Red, Red Gold
W
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
0
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Red, red gold, a kingdom's ransom, child,
To weave thy yellow hair she bade them spin.
At early dawn the gossamer spiders toiled,
And wove the sunrise in.
She took the treasures of the deep blue noon,
She took the clear eyes of the morning star,
The pale--faced lilies of a seven--days moon,
The dust of Phoebus' car.
She painted thee with dewdrops from the flowers,
Stained with their petals, hyacinth and rose,
And violets all wet with April showers
And snowdrops from the snows.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
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