Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
Sylvia Sings
Sylvia said that day, “I’ll sing if you will play.” We could deny not anything, Not even deny to hear her sing Who like a little spirit lay Uncertain whether to flutter its wing, To go or stay. So though it broke our hearts for pity, With hidden face one went To the tinkling instrument, And one with bended head Stayed by the bed, While the small voice sang over and over its ditty:-- “‘Manners make ladies, but not such as these, Manners make ladies, but not such as these.’ Now again, please! ‘Manners make ladies-- But not such as these.’” She breathed it long and long And ah, so low, Her tiny meaningless song, For she was pleased to please us so-- But what we said Sitting beside her bed I do not know, There were so many tears to keep unshed.
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