Читать книгу Poems - William Ernest Henley - Страница 15

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Two and thirty is the ploughman.

He’s a man of gallant inches,

And his hair is close and curly,

And his beard;

But his face is wan and sunken,

And his eyes are large and brilliant,

And his shoulder-blades are sharp,

And his knees.

He is weak of wits, religious,

Full of sentiment and yearning,

Gentle, faded—with a cough

And a snore.

When his wife (who was a widow,

And is many years his elder)

Fails to write, and that is always,

He desponds.

Let his melancholy wander,

And he’ll tell you pretty stories

Of the women that have wooed him

Long ago;

Or he’ll sing of bonnie lasses

Keeping sheep among the heather,

With a crackling, hackling click

In his voice.