W.H. Auden.

Now the leaves are falling fast,
Nurse's flowers will not last;
Nurses to the graves are gone,
And the prams go rolling on.

Whispering neighbours, left and right,
Pluck us from the real delight;
And the active hands must freeze
Lonely on the separate knees.

Dead in hundreds at the back
Follow wooden in our track,
Arms raised stiffly to reprove
In false attitudes of love.

Starving through the leafless wood
Trolls run scolding for their food;
And the nightingale is dumb,
And the angel will not come.

Cold, impossible, ahead
Lifts the mountain's lovely head
Whose white waterfall could bless
Travellers in their last distress.

 Rebellious Ophelia: Марина, милая, это стихотворение Одена ассоциируется у меня с тобой..

Спасибо, Полин. Оно как раз такое, как я люблю - осеннее, сказочное, жутковато-притягательное. Как музыка Emilie autumn и сказки братьев Гримм. Это замечательный подарок.