Читать книгу The Complete Works - William Butler Yeats - Страница 29

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I wander by the edge

Of this desolate lake

Where wind cries in the sedge

Until the axle break

That keeps the stars in their round,

And hands hurl in the deep

The banners of East and West,

And the girdle of light is unbound,

Your breast will not lie by the breast

Of your beloved in sleep.