Anne Brontë (Энн Бронте)

* * *

Oh, they have robbed me of the hope
My spirit held so dear;
They will not let me hear that voice
My soul delights to hear.
They will not let me see that face
I so delight to see;
And they have taken all thy smiles,
And all thy love from me.

Well, let them seize on all they can: --
One treasure still is mine, --
A heart that loves to think on thee,
And feels the worth of thine. 

1. Vanitas Vanitatis, Etc
2. Fluctuations
3. The Student's Serenade
4. Severed And Gone
5. An Orphan's Lament

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1435

Последние стихотворения

To English version