It''s growing dark, the night is falling;
The mountains cast extending shadows;
The fleecy clouds are all palling;
The day is drawing to a close.
I''m not afraid of growing gloom;
I feel no regrets for the day.
And only you, my pretty loom,
Don''t leave,.. if you may.
Come close. Touch me with your wing;
You will calm down my disturbed heart;
You''ll see how healing is your wind
For my enchanting heart.
How to decide where you are from?
You''re earthy thing or you''re of heaven;
Or maybe air is your home?
But you''re a woman, your soul is fervent.
F. I. Tyutchev
© Copyright: Лана Корнилова, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109081806881
Свидетельство о публикации №109081806881
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