Читать книгу The Complete Works - William Butler Yeats - Страница 92

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The angels are stooping

Above your bed;

They weary of trooping

With the whimpering dead.

God’s laughing in heaven

To see you so good;

The shining Seven

Are gay with His mood.

I kiss you and kiss you,

My pigeon, my own;

Ah, how I shall miss you

When you have grown.