Читать книгу Nirvana Days - Rice Cale Young - Страница 7

Gulls on the wind,

Crying! crying!

Are you the ghosts

Of Erin's dead?

Of the forlorn

Whose days went sighing

Ever for Beauty

That ever fled?

Ever for Light

That never kindled?

Ever for Song

No lips have sung?

Ever for Joy

That ever dwindled?

Ever for Love that stung?