Читать книгу Poems - French Nora May - Страница 11

AS down I bent with eager lips

Above the stones and cresses cool —

The yellow tent, the little moon,

I found within my twilight pool.

The fringing trees, the floating moon,

The bubble tent – I passed them by,

And sipped a tiny, shattered star,

Deep drinking from that mirrored sky.

MY tent is shadowed day and night

With leaves that shift in moon and sun;

Across its walls of lucent white

The lovely varied tracings run;

And black and slender, quickly sped,

I watch the little feet at dawn —

A sudden oriole overhead,

A darting linnet come and gone.