Читать книгу Cane - Jean Toomer - Страница 15

Full moon rising on the waters of my heart,

Lakes and moon and fires,

Cloine tires,

Holding her lips apart.

Promises of slumber leaving shore to charm the moon,

Miracle made vesper-keeps,

Cloine sleeps,

And I’ll be sleeping soon.

Cloine, curled like the sleepy waters where the moon-waves start,

Radiant, resplendently she gleams,

Cloine dreams,

Lips pressed against my heart.