Читать книгу Poems - Fanny Kemble - Страница 17

         I sing the yellow leaf,

            That rustling strews

         The wintry path, where grief

            Delights to muse,

Spring’s early violet, that sweetly opes

   Its fragrant leaves to the young morning’s kiss,

Type of our youth’s fond dreams, and cherished hopes,

   Will soon be this:

         A sere and yellow leaf,

            That rustling strews

         The wintry path, where grief

            Delights to muse.

The summer’s rose, in whose rich hues we read

   Pleasure’s gay bloom, and love’s enchanting bliss,

And glory’s laurel, waving o’er the dead,

   Will soon be this:

         A sere and yellow leaf,

            That rustling strews

         The wintry path, where grief

            Delights to muse.