Читать книгу Poems, and The Spring of Joy - Mary Webb - Страница 15

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Elves of the hollow and the dewpond still,

Take pity! Gather for me dew as chill

As ice, and glittering-pure as early dawn,

From pink-tipped daisies on the printless lawn

And the transparent cups of apple-bloom,

And lily bells, to save me from this doom

Of being so brown!

Bring me an unguent made of scented roots;

Pomander of green herbs and scarlet fruits,

Verbena leaves, mallow and melilot,

And balmy rosemary, that I may not

Be brown!

O sweet wild rose,

You have so fair a colour in your face!

Spare me a blush; take from me this disgrace

Of being so brown!

Lilies, you do not guess,

In your pale loveliness,

The grief it is to hear,

In a voice dispassionate and clear,

‘You’re very brown!’