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Henry Kirke White (Генри Керк Уайт) A Ballad Be hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds, Ye pelting rains, a little rest; Lie still, lie still, ye busy thoughts, That wring with grief my aching breast. Oh! cruel was my faithless love, To triumph o'er an artless maid; Oh! cruel was my faithless love, To leave the breast by him betray'd. When exiled from my native home, He should have wiped the bitter tear; Nor left me faint and lone to roam, A heart-sick weary wanderer here. My child moans sadly in my arms, The winds they will not let it sleep: Ah, little knows the hapless babe What makes its wretched mother weep! Now lie thee still, my infant dear, I cannot bear thy sobs to see, Harsh is thy father, little one, And never will he shelter thee. Oh, that I were but in my grave, And winds were piping o'er me loud, And thou, my poor, my orphan babe, Wert nestling in thy mother's shroud! Henry Kirke White's other poems: Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1259 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |