Читать книгу Songs of Travel, and Other Verses - Роберт Стивенсон - Страница 15

Bright is the ring of words

   When the right man rings them,

Fair the fall of songs

   When the singer sings them.

Still they are carolled and said —

   On wings they are carried —

After the singer is dead

   And the maker buried.

Low as the singer lies

   In the field of heather,

Songs of his fashion bring

   The swains together.

And when the west is red

   With the sunset embers,

The lover lingers and sings

   And the maid remembers.