Wilfred Wilson Gibson (Уилфрид Уилсон Гибсон)
The Parrots
Somewhere, somewhen I've seen, But where or when I'll never know, Parrots of shrilly green With crests of shriller scarlet flying Out of black cedars as the sun was dying Against cold peaks of snow. From what forgotten life Of other worlds I cannot tell Flashes that screeching strife; Yet the shrill colour and shrill crying Sing through my blood and set my heart replying And jangling like a bell.
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