Читать книгу The Garden of Dreams - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 18

Sad o'er the hills the poppy sunset died.

Slow as a fungus breaking through the crusts

Of forest leaves, the waning half-moon thrusts,

Through gray-brown clouds, one milky silver side;

In her vague light the dogwoods, vale-descried,

Seem nervous torches flourished by the gusts;

The apple-orchards seem the restless dusts

Of wind-thinned mists upon the hills they hide.

It is a night of omens whom late May

Meets, like a wraith, among her train of hours;

An apparition, with appealing eye

And hesitant foot, that walks a willowed way,

And, speaking through the fading moon and

flowers,

Bids her prepare her gentle soul to die.