A Passing Thought
A
Albert Laighton
0
Altın Yaprak
THE violets are dead,
And faded is the rose;
The autumn leaves are shed;
High drift the winter snows,
And no flower blows.
Oh, why complain, sad soul?
Life may be verdure-crowned,
Howe'er the seasons roll;
And Love's sweet flower be found
The whole year round.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş