Читать книгу Among the Millet and Other Poems - Archibald Lampman - Страница 14

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And when, day passed and over heaven's height,

Thin with the many stars and cool with dew,

The fingers of the deep hours slowly drew

The wonder of the ever-healing night,

No grief or loneliness or wrapt delight

Or weight of silence ever brought to you

Slumber or rest; only your voices grew

More high and solemn; slowly with hushed flight

Ye saw the echoing hours go by, long-drawn,

Nor ever stirred, watching with fathomless eyes,

And with your countless clear antiphonies

Filling the earth and heaven, even till dawn,

Last-risen, found you with its first pale gleam,

Still with soft throats unaltered in your dream.