Читать книгу The Blue Poetry Book - Lang Andrew, May Kendall - Страница 38

Could Love for ever

Run like a river,

And Time’s endeavour

Be tried in vain —

No other pleasure

With this could measure;

And like a treasure

We’d hug the chain.

But since our sighing

Ends not in dying,

And, form’d for flying,

Love plumes his wing;

Then for this reason

Let’s love a season;

But let that season be only Spring.

When lovers parted

Feel broken-hearted,

And, all hopes thwarted

Expect to die;

A few years older,

Ah! how much colder

They might behold her

For whom they sigh!