Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
30. Hanrahan laments because of his Wanderings

O where is our Mother of Peace
Nodding her purple hood?
For the winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood.
I would that the death-pale deer
Had come through the mountain side,
And trampled the mountain away,
And drunk up the murmuring tide;
For the winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood,
And our Mother of Peace has forgot me
Under her purple hood.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, 19