* * *
A girl was singing in church's choir
Of all the weary in foreign soil,
Of all the ships that sailed the waters,
Of all, who have forgotten their joy.
So sang her voice, to cupola, reaching,
And on white shoulder a dazzling ray,
And in the dark each one harking and watching
How the white dress did sing in the ray.
It seemed to them that joy is up coming,
That, all the ships, in the quiet berth,
That all the weary in a foreign dwelling
Found radiant life for themselves.
And the voice was sweet, and the ray was tiny,
And only up high, next to Royal gate,
Privy to mysteries, a child was crying
That nobody ever is coming back.
|
* * *
,
, ,
, .
, ,
,
,
.
, ,
,
.
, ,
, ,
,
,
|