Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Генри Уодсворт Лонгфелло)

My Cathedral

Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
  Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
  The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
  Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
  No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
  No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones.
  No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
  Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
  Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
  Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
  And learn there may be worship without words. 

1. Maidenhood
2. The Fire of Drift-Wood
3. Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem
4. Tegnér’s Drapa
5. The Skeleton in Armor

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1883

Последние стихотворения

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