Слова
Where forest stream went through the wood
And silent all the stems there stood
Of tall trees, moveless, hanging dark
With mottled shadows on their bark
As faint as deepest sleeper's breath
An echo came as cold as death
Long are the paths, of shadow made
Where no foot's print is ever laid
No moon is there, no voice, no sound
Of beating heart; a sigh profound
Once in each age as each age dies
Alone is heard. Far, far it lies
