Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe (Illustrated Edition) - Эдгар Аллан По - Страница 52

Table of Contents

I heed not that my earthly lot

Hath—little of Earth in it—

That years of love have been forgot

In the hatred of a minute:—

I mourn not that the desolate

Are happier, sweet, than I,

But that you sorrow for my fate Who am a passer-by.