Lizette Woodworth Reese (Лайзетт Вудворт Риз)

A Violin at Dusk

Stumble to silence, all you uneasy things,
That pack the day with bluster and with fret.
For here is music at each window set;
Here is a cup which drips with all the springs
That ever bud a cowslip flower; a roof
To shelter till the argent weathers break;
A candle with enough of light to make
My courage bright against each dark reproof.
A hand's width of clear gold, unraveled out
The rosy sky, the little moon appears;
As they were splashed upon the paling red,
Vast, blurred, the village poplars lift about.
I think of young, lost things: of lilacs; tears;
I think of an old neighbor, long since dead. 

1. A Windflower
2. Wise
3. The Deserted House
4. Spicewood
5. Telling the Bees

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1732

Последние стихотворения

To English version