Song. [Edward J. O'Brien]
She goes all so softly
Like a shadow on the hill,
A faint wind at twilight
That stirs, and is still.
She weaves her thoughts whitely,
Like doves in the air,
Though a gray mound in Flanders
Clouds all that was fair.
The Second Book of Modern Verse A Selection from the Work of Contemporaneous American Poets · 第 178 / 245 题