Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages онлайн

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William Blake

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The wanton Troopers riding by

Have shot my Fawn, and it will dye.

Ungentlemen! they cannot thrive

Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst alive

Them any Harm: alas! nor cou'd

Thy Death yet do them any Good ...

For it was full of sport, and light

Of foot and heart, and did invite

Me to its game; it seemed to bless

Itself in me; how could I less

Than love it? O, I cannot be

Unkind to a beast that loveth me ...

With sweetest Milk, and Sugar, first

I it at mine own Fingers nurst;

And as it grew, so every Day

It waxed more white and sweet than they.

It had so sweet a Breath! And oft

I blushed to see its Foot more soft,

And white (shall I say than my Hand?)

Nay, any Ladie's of the Land.

It is a wond'rous Thing how fleet

'Twas on those little Silver Feet;

With what a pretty skipping Grace,

It oft would challenge me the Race;

And when 't had left me far away,

'Twould stay, and run again, and stay;

For it was nimbler much than Hindes,