Alice Meynell (Элис Мейнелл)

Cradle-Song at Twilight

THE child not yet is lulled to rest.
    Too young a nurse, the slender Night 
So laxly holds him to her breast
    That throbs with flight.

He plays with her, and will not sleep.
    For other playfellows she sighs; 
An unmaternal fondness keep
    Her alien eyes.

1. The Threshing Machine
2. Veni Creator
3. Winter Trees on the Horizon
4. To Antiquity
5. Christmas Night

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1844

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