Читать книгу Poems - French Nora May - Страница 16

TO Reason with the praise of one I go

To fall back, silent, at her whispered “No.”

And always of the other says she, “Trust —

He doeth thus and thus, O thou unjust!”

Yet meet one eye to eye and queries end —

An eager hand goes out to greet a friend,

And let the other please me, soon or late

Wakes with a hiss the little snake of hate.