Читать книгу Poems - Edna St. Vincent Millay - Страница 14

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Death, I say, my heart is bowed

Unto thine—O mother!

This red gown will make a shroud

Good as any other!

(I, that would not wait to wear

My own bridal things,

In a dress dark as my hair

Made my answerings.

I, to-night, that till he came

Could not, could not wait,

In a gown as bright as flame

Held for them the gate.)

Death, I say, my heart is bowed

Unto thine—O mother!

This red gown will make a shroud

Good as any other!