Читать книгу The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose Sketches - Riley James Whitcomb - Страница 33

After the frost! O the rose is dead,

And the weeds lie pied in the garden-bed,

And the peach tree's shade in the wan sunshine,

Faint as the veins in these hands of mine,

Streaks the gray of the orchard wall

Where the vine rasps loose, and the last leaves fall,

And the bare boughs writhe, and the winds are lost —

After the frost – the frost!

After the frost! O the weary head

And the hands and the heart are quietéd;

And the lips we loved are locked at last,

And kiss not back, though the rain falls fast