Читать книгу Verses - Coolidge Susan - Страница 2

  Poems are heavenly things,

  And only souls with wings

  May reach them where they grow,

  May pluck and bear below,

  Feeding the nations thus

  With food all glorious.

  Verses are not of these;

  They bloom on earthly trees,

  Poised on a low-hung stem,

  And those may gather them

  Who cannot fly to where

  The heavenly gardens are.

  So I by devious ways

  Have pulled some easy sprays

  From the down-dropping bough

  Which all may reach, and now

  I knot them, bud and leaf,

  Into a rhymed sheaf.

  Not mine the pinion strong

  To win the nobler song;

  I only cull and bring

  A hedge-row offering

  Of berry, flower, and brake,

  If haply some may take.