Сонет N 48 Охапка дров

Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

She filled her arms with wood, and set her chin

Forward, to hold the highest stick in place,

No less afraid than she had always been

Of spiders up her arms and on her face,

But too impatient for a careful search

Or a less heavy loading, from the heap

Selecting hastily small sticks of birch,

For their curled bark, that instantly will leap

Into a blaze, nor thinking to return

Some day, distracted, as of old, to find

Smooth, heavy, round, green logs with a wet, gray rind

Only, and knotty chunks that will not burn,

(That day when dust is on the wood-box floor,

And some old catalogue, and a brown, shriveled apple core).

 

из цикла семнадцати сонетов: "an Ungrafted Tree"