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Leaves ONE by one, like leaves from a tree All my faiths have forsaken me; But the stars above my head Burn in white and delicate red, And beneath my feet the earth Brings the sturdy grass to birth. I who was content to be But a silken-singing tree, But a rustle of delight In the wistful heart of night-- I have lost the leaves that knew Touch of rain and weight of dew. Blinded by a leafy crown I looked neither up nor down-- But the little leaves that die Have left me room to see the sky; Now for the first time I know Stars above and earth below. Sara Teasdale's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1576 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |