Читать книгу The Triumph of Music, and Other Lyrics - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 5

Her violets in thine eyes

The Springtide stained I know,

Two bits of mystic skies

On which the green turf lies,

Whereon the violets blow.

I know the Summer wrought

From thy sweet heart that rose,

With that faint fragrance fraught,

Its sad poetic thought

Of peace and deep repose.

That Autumn, like some god,

From thy delicious hair —

Lost sunlight 'neath the sod

Shot up this golden-rod

To toss it everywhere.

That Winter from thy breast

The snowdrop's whiteness stole —

Much kinder than the rest —

Thy innocence confessed,

The pureness of thy soul.