Cross-Roads
M
Mathilde Blind
0
Altın Yaprak
The rain beat in our faces,
And shrill the wild airs grew;
The long-maned clouds in races
Coursed o'er heaven's windy blue.
The tortured trees were lashing
Each other in their wrath,
Their wet leaves wildly dashing
Across the forest path.
We did not heed the sweeping
Of storm-bewildered rain;
Our cheeks were wet with weeping,
Our hearts were wrung with pain.
For where the cross-roads sever,
Parting to East and West,
We bade good-bye for ever,
To what we each loved best.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş