2 мин
Слушать(AI)For An Autograph
GH old the thought and oft exprest, 'Tis his at last who says it best,
I'll try my fortune with the rest.
Life is a leaf of paper white Whereon each one of us may write His word or two, and then comes night. 'Lo, time and space enough,' we cry, 'To write an epic! ' so we try Our nibs upon the edge, and die.
Muse not which way the pen to hold,
Luck hates the slow and loves the bold,
Soon come the darkness and the cold.
Greatly begin! though thou have time But for a line, be that sublime,
Not failure, but low aim, is crime.
Ah, with what lofty hope we came!
But we forget it, dream of fame,
And scrawl, as I do here, a name.
James Russell Lowell
James Russell Lowell (/ˈloʊəl/; February 22, 1819 – August 12, 1891) was an American Romantic poet, critic, editor, and diplomat. He is associat
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Jeffries Wyman Died September 4 1874
The wisest man could ask no more of Than to be simple, modest, manly, true, Safe from the Many, honoured by the Few; To count as naught in World, or Church, or State,
The Street
They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds, Dim ghosts of men that hover to and fro, Hugging their bodies round them, like thin Wherein their souls were buried long ago:
The Vision Of Sir Launfal
Prelude to Part Over his keys the musing organist, Beginning doubtfully and far away, First lets his fingers wander as they list, And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay: Then, as the touch of his loved instrument Gives hopes...
The Courtin
God makes sech nights, all white an' Fur 'z you can look or listen, Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, All silence an' all glisten
