Читать книгу Complete Poetical Works - Bret Harte - Страница 7

     Came the relief. "What, sentry, ho!

     How passed the night through thy long waking?"

     "Cold, cheerless, dark,—as may befit

     The hour before the dawn is breaking."

     "No sight? no sound?"  "No; nothing save

     The plover from the marshes calling,

     And in yon western sky, about

     An hour ago, a star was falling."

     "A star?  There's nothing strange in that."

     "No, nothing; but, above the thicket,

     Somehow it seemed to me that God

     Somewhere had just relieved a picket."