Читать книгу Poems of To-Day: an Anthology - Various - Страница 26

  Grow old and die, rich Day,

    Over some English field—

  Chartered to come away

    What time to Death you yield!

  Pass, frost-white ghost, and then

  Come forth to banish'd men!

  I see the stubble's sheen,

    The mist and ruddled leaves,

  Here where the new Spring's green

    For her first rain-drops grieves.

  Here beechen leaves drift red

  Last week in England dead.

  For English eyes' delight

    Those Autumn ghosts go free—

  Ghost of the field hoar-white,

    Ghost of the crimson tree.

  Grudge them not, England dear,

  To us thy banished here!