Ted Hughes «September»
September We sit late, watching the dark slowly unfold: No clock counts this. When kisses are repeated and the arms hold There is no telling where time is. It is midsummer: the leaves hang big and still: Behind the eye a star, Under the silk of the wrist a sea, tell Time is nowhere. We stand; leaves have not timed the summer. No clock now needs Tell we have only what we remember: Minutes uproaring with our heads Like an unfortunate King’s and his Queen’s When the senseless mob rules; And quietly the trees casting their crowns Into the pools. … Читать далее →