Читать книгу Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough - Arthur Hugh Clough - Страница 12

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My wind is turned to bitter north,

That was so soft a south before;

My sky, that shone so sunny bright,

With foggy gloom is clouded o’er:

My gay green leaves are yellow-black,

Upon the dank autumnal floor;

For love, departed once, comes back

No more again, no more.

A roofless ruin lies my home,

For winds to blow and rains to pour;

One frosty night befell, and lo!

I find my summer days are o’er:

The heart bereaved, of why and how

Unknowing, knows that yet before

It had what e’en to Memory now

Returns no more, no more.