Читать книгу Bread and Circuses - Helen Parry Eden - Страница 19

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Three candles had her cake, Which now are burnt away; We wreathed it for her sake With currant-leaves and bay And the last graces Of Michaelmas Daisies Pluckt on a misty day.

Curled (as she cut her cake) In mine her fingers lay; Purple the petals brake, Bruised was the scented bay; Like a yellow moth On the white white cloth One currant-leaf flew away.

Three candles lit her state; Dimmed is their golden reign— Leaves on an empty plate, Petals and tallow-stain; Nor will she Nor the candles three Ever be three again.