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Ngôn ngữ: Tiếng Anh

Đăng bởi Cammy vào 15/04/2008 19:50, đã sửa 1 lần, lần cuối bởi Cammy vào 15/04/2008 19:53

Poem XXII

The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
And out we troop to see:
A single redcoat turns his head,
He turns and looks at me.

My man, from sky to sky's so far,
We never crossed before;
Such leagues apart the world's ends are,
We're like to meet no more;

What thoughts at heart have you and I
We cannot stop to tell;
But dead or living, drunk or dry,
Soldier, I wish you well.