Читать книгу Dark Soil - Stringer Arthur - Страница 11

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Mournful the summer moon

Rose from the quiet sea.

Golden and sad and full of regret

As though it would ask of earth

Where all her lovers had vanished

And whither had gone the rose-red lips

That had sighed to her light of old.

Then I caught a pulse of music,

Brokenly, out at the pier-end,

And I heard the voices of girls

Going home in the dark,

Laughing along the sea-wall

Over a lover’s word!