Читать книгу Dickinson: The Complete Works - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 256
I. "Let down the bars, O Death!"
ОглавлениеThe tired flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat,
Whose wandering is done.
Thine is the stillest night,
Thine the securest fold;
Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.
