Читать книгу Songs of Travel, and Other Verses - Роберт Стивенсон - Страница 5

In dreams, unhappy, I behold you stand

      As heretofore:

The unremembered tokens in your hand

      Avail no more.

No more the morning glow, no more the grace,

      Enshrines, endears.

Cold beats the light of time upon your face

      And shows your tears.

He came and went.  Perchance you wept a while

      And then forgot.

Ah me! but he that left you with a smile

      Forgets you not.