Читать книгу Poems, and The Spring of Joy - Mary Webb - Страница 24

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Like a poppy on a tower

The present hour!

The wind stirs, the wind awakes,

Beneath its feet the tower shakes.

All down the crannied wall

Torn scarlet petals fall,

Like scattered fire or shivered glass

And drifting with their motion pass

Torn petals of blue shadow

From the grey tower to the green meadow.