Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Various - Страница 31

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Weep you no more, sad fountains:—

What need you flow so fast?

Look how the snowy mountains

Heaven's sun doth gently waste!

But my Sun's heavenly eyes

View not your weeping,

That now lies sleeping

Softly, now softly lies,

Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,

A rest that peace begets:—

Doth not the sun rise smiling,

When fair at even he sets?

—Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes!

Melt not in weeping!

While She lies sleeping

Softly, now softly lies,

Sleeping!

Anon.