Читать книгу Poems, and The Spring of Joy - Mary Webb - Страница 17

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The green pine-needles shiver glassily,

Each cased in ice. Harsh winter, grey and dun,

Shuts out the sun.

But with live, scarlet fire,

Enfolding seed of sweet Junes yet to be,

Rose-berries melt the snow, and burn above

The thorny briar,

Like beauty with its deathless seed of love.