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Слушать(AI)Moonlight
It will not hurt me when I am old,
A running tide where moonlight
Will not sting me like silver snakes;
The years will make me sad and cold,
It is the happy heart that breaks.
The heart asks more than life can give,
When that is learned, then all is learned;
The waves break fold on jewelled fold,
But beauty itself is fugitive,
It will not hurt me when I am old.
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933) was an American lyric poet. She was born Sarah Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri, and use
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I made a hundred little songs That told the joy and pain of love, And sang them blithely, tho' I knew No whit thereof I was a weaver deaf and blind; A miracle was wrought for me,
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I am not yours, not lost in you, Not lost, although I long to Lost as a candle lit at noon, Lost as a snowflake in the sea
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I hoped that he would love me, And he has kissed my mouth, But I am like a stricken bird That cannot reach the south For though I know he loves me,