Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Всі вірші поета

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I PLUCKED a honeysuckle where

The hedge on high is quick with thorn,

And climbing for the prize, was torn,

And fouled my feet in quag-water;

And by the thorns and by the wind

The blossom that I took was thinn'd,

And yet I found it sweet and fair.

Thence to a richer growth I came,

Piled deep below the screening apple-branch

They lie with bitter apples in their hands:

And some are only ancient bones that blanch,

And some had ships that last year's wind did launch,

And some were yesterday the lords of lands.

In the soft dell, among the apple-trees,

High up above the hidden pit she stands,