Читать книгу Herbs and Apples - Whitney Helen Hay - Страница 9

What if to-day, when I have made so sure

That love is utterly and wholly mine,

What if I found that faith should not endure

And all my trust in you I should resign;

That when I send my thoughts like homing birds

To your dear heart they find no resting place,

But all misunderstood, far, foreign words,

They die away like strangers at your face.

Love, make me certain, make the circuit true,

And when I wonder, give the faith I seek

Perfectly trusting, let me end in you

Heart against heart, and cheek upon your cheek.