The New Year
G
George MacDonald
0
Altın Yaprak
Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come;
Make poor the body, but make rich the heart:
What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home,
Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart!
Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames,
Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low-
Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames
When joyous in death's harvest-home we go.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş