1 мин
Слушать(AI)SONNET I prethee turn that face away
I prethee turn that face away Whose splendour but benights my day.
Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts Shun the bright rayes which beauty darts.
Unwelcome is the Sun that pries Into those shades where sorrow lies.
Go shine on happy things.
To me That blessing is a miserie:
Whom thy fierce Sun not warmes, but burnes,
Like that the sooty Indian turnes.
Ile serve the night, and there confin'd Wish thee less fair, or else more kind.
Henry King
Henry King (1592 – 30 September 1669) was an English poet who served as Bishop of Chichester.
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Psalm CXVII
O all ye Nations record, The Praises of the Lord; Ye people through the Universe, Your Makers praise rehearse
The Exequy
Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, Instead of dirges, this complaint; And for sweet flow'rs to crown thy hearse, From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st
Psalm I
The man is blest whose feet not tread, By wicked counsailes led: Nor stands in that perverted way, In which the Sinners stray;
The Surrender
MY once dear love, hapless that I no more Must call thee so, the rich affection's store That fed our hope lies now exhaust and spent, Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent We, that did nothing study but the way To love each other, wi...
