Читать книгу Rivers to the Sea - Sara Teasdale - Страница 21

THE YEARS

TO-NIGHT I close my eyes and see

A strange procession passing me—

The years before I saw your face

Go by me with a wistful grace;

They pass, the sensitive shy years,

As one who strives to dance, half blind

with tears.

The years went by and never knew

That each one brought me nearer you;

Their path was narrow and apart

And yet it led me to your heart—

Oh sensitive shy years, oh lonely years,

That strove to sing with voices drowned

in tears.