George Meredith (Джордж Мередит)

By Morning Twilight

Night, like a dying mother,
Eyes her young offspring, Day.
The birds are dreamily piping.
And O, my love, my darling!
The night is life ebb'd away:
Away beyond our reach!
A sea that has cast us pale on the beach;
Weeds with the weeds and the pebbles
That hear the lone tamarisk rooted in sand
Sway
With the song of the sea to the land. 

1. Modern Love. Sonnet 41. How Many a Thing which We Cast to the Ground
2. Unknown Fair Faces
3. Modern Love. Sonnet 40. I Bade my Lady Think what She Might Mean
4. Modern Love. Sonnet 16. In our Old Shipwrecked Days
5. Modern Love. Sonnet 38. Give to Imagination

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1909

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