Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 40

Once when the sun of the year was beginning to fall

We stopped by a mountain pasture to say, "Whose colt?

A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall,

The other curled at his heart. He dipped his head

And snorted to us; and then he had to bolt.

We heard the muffled thunder when he fled

And we saw him or thought we saw him dim and grey

Like a shadow against the curtain of falling flakes.

We said, "The little fellow's afraid of the snow.

He isn't winter broken." "It isn't play

With the little fellow at all. He's running away.

I doubt if even his mother could tell him, 'Sakes,

It's only weather.' He'd think she didn't know.

Where is his mother? He can't be out alone."

And now he comes again with a clatter of stone

And mounts the wall again with whited eyes

And all his tail that isn't hair up straight.

He shudders his coat as if to throw off flies.

Whoever it is that leaves him out so late

When everything else has gone to stall and bin

Ought to be told to go and bring him in.

Robert Frost

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