Искусствоед
Theodore Stephanides
Estate

(On seeing a dismantled London Cemetery, 1961)

I always longed to own a plot
Where I could plant a tree
To be the whispering messenger
Between the stars and me.

But when at last a plot was mine,
No tree could there be grown;
And from my circumscribed demesne
There sprouted but a stone.

This, even, is uprooted now
And propped against a wall;
Now I have neither stone nor tree,
Nor anything at all.
(from "The Golden face", 1965)

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