Читать книгу Cardos y lluvia - Kate Clanchy - Страница 15

It rose dark as a stack of peat

With mountains at its feet,

Till a bright flush of evening swept

And on to its high shoulders leapt

And Suilven, a great ruby, shone;

And though that evening light is dead

The mountain in my mind burns on,

As though I were the foul toad, said

To bear a precious jewel on his head.