Читать книгу Gloucestershire Friends: Poems From a German Prison Camp - F. W. Harvey - Страница 6

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Here where no tree changes,

Here in a prison of pine,

I think how Autumn ranges

The country that is mine.

There—rust upon the chill breeze—

The woodland leaf now whirls;

There sway the yellowing birches

Like dainty dancing girls.

Oh, how the leaves are dancing

With Death at Lassington!

And Death is now enhancing

Beauty I walked upon.

The roads with leaves are littered,

Yellow, brown, and red.

The homes where robins twittered

Lie ruin; but instead

Gaunt arms of stretching giants

Stand in the azure air,

Cutting the sky in pattern

So common, yet so fair.

The heart is kindled by it,

And lifted as with wine,

In Lassington and Highnam—

The woodlands that were mine.