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Primrose

Upon a bank I sat, a child made

Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.

Better than wealth it is,

I said, to

One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear.

I looked at Christ transfigured without fear—The light was very beautiful and kind,

And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signedI read it through the lenses of a tear.

And then my sight grew dim,

I could not

The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven,

And there was but the shadow of a

Ghostly among the stars.  The years that

Like tired soldiers nevermore have

Moments to see wonders in the grass.

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Patrick Kavanagh

Patrick Kavanagh (21 October 1904 – 30 November 1967) was an Irish poet and novelist. His best-known works include the novel Tarry Flynn, and th…

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Страдания юного Вертера краткое содержание
Любовь как сон
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