Читать книгу The Garden of Dreams - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 21

There, from its entrance, lost in matted vines, —

Where in the valley foams a water-fall, —

Is glimpsed a ruined mill's remaining wall;

Here, by the road, the oxeye daisy mines

Hot brass and bronze; the trumpet-trailer shines

Red as the plumage of the cardinal.

Faint from the forest comes the rain-crow's call

Where dusty Summer dreams among the pines.

This is the spot where Spring writes wildflower verses

In primrose pink, while, drowsing o'er his reins,

The ploughman, all unnoticing, plods along:

And where the Autumn opens weedy purses

Of sleepy silver, while the corn-heaped wains

Rumble the bridge like some deep throat of song.