Сонет N 34 Осенняя роза

Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find

The roots of last year’s roses in my breast;

I am as surely riper in my mind

As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed.

Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will,

Call me in all things what I was before,

A flutterer in the wind, a woman still;

I tell you I am what I was and more.

My branches weigh me down, frost cleans the air,

My sky is black with small birds bearing south;

Say what you will, confuse me with fine care,

Put by my word as but an April truth,—

Autumn is no less on me that a rose

Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes.