Читать книгу Gypsy Verses - Whitney Helen Hay - Страница 17

The sky is more blue than the eyes of a boy,

A riot of roses entangles the year;

Ah, come to me, run to me, fill me with joy,

Dear, dear, dear.

The air is a passion of perfume and song,

The little moon swings up above, look above,

I cannot wait longer, I’ve waited so long,

Love, love, love.