Читать книгу In Flanders Fields And Other Poems - Lieut.-Col. John McCrae - Страница 32

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Cometh the night. The wind falls low,

The trees swing slowly to and fro:

Around the church the headstones grey

Cluster, like children strayed away

But found again, and folded so.

No chiding look doth she bestow:

If she is glad, they cannot know;

If ill or well they spend their day,

Cometh the night.

Singing or sad, intent they go;

They do not see the shadows grow;

“There yet is time,” they lightly say,

“Before our work aside we lay”;

Their task is but half-done, and lo!

Cometh the night.