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

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The silver crisp on all thy lawns,

The softly swirling undersong

That rocks thy reeds the winter long.

Surely I know the joys that ring

Through the green deeps of leafy spring;

I know the elfin cups and domes

That are their small and secret homes.

Yet is the light for ever lost

That daily once thy meadows crossed,

The voice no more by thee is heard

That matched the song of stream and bird.

Call me no more!—thy waters roll

Here, in the world that is my soul,

And here, though Earth be drowned in night,

Old love shall dwell with old delight.

Henry Newbolt

57

There's no smoke in the chimney,

And the rain beats on the floor;

There's no glass in the window,

There's no wood in the door;

The heather grows behind the house,

And the sand lies before.

No hand hath trained the ivy,

The walls are gray and bare;

The boats upon the sea sail by,

Nor ever tarry there.

No beast of the field comes nigh,

Nor any bird of the air.

Mary Coleridge

58

O, to have a little house!