Читать книгу Songs of a Savoyard - William Schwenck Gilbert - Страница 22

To a garden full of posies

Cometh one to gather flowers;

And he wanders through its bowers

Toying with the wanton roses,

Who, uprising from their beds,

Hold on high their shameless heads

With their pretty lips a-pouting,

Never doubting – never doubting

That for Cytherean posies

He would gather aught but roses.

In a nest of weeds and nettles,

Lay a violet, half hidden;

Hoping that his glance unbidden

Yet might fall upon her petals.

Though she lived alone, apart,

Hope lay nestling at her heart,

But, alas! the cruel awaking

Set her little heart a-breaking,

For he gathered for his posies

Only roses – only roses!