söndag 9 april 2017

Poesi på en söndag

George Gordon Byron   ( 1788-1824.)

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour -- when lover's vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;
And gentle winds and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the Heaven that clear obscure
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

2 kommentarer:

Mrs Calloway sa...

fint med en dikt på Palmsöndagen. läste en annan nyss.

Ingrid sa...

En stund i stillhet med en dikt passar dagen väl.