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

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I doubt if even his mother could tell him, 'Sakes,

It's only weather.' He'd think she didn't know.

Where is his mother? He can't be out alone."

And now he comes again with a clatter of stone

And mounts the wall again with whited eyes

And all his tail that isn't hair up straight.

He shudders his coat as if to throw off flies.

Whoever it is that leaves him out so late

When everything else has gone to stall and bin

Ought to be told to go and bring him in.

Robert Frost

33

Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are

Hushed in the twilight: yonder, in the path through

The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy

Calling the cows home.

A bright white star blinks, the pale moon rounds, but

Still the red, lurid wreckage of the sunset

Smoulders in smoky fire, and burns on

The misty hill-tops.

Ghostly it grows, and darker, the burning

Fades into smoke, and now the gusty oaks are

A silent army of phantoms thronging

A land of shadows.

John Masefield

34