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Слушать(AI)The Night
The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow; The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me: I will not, cannot go.
Emily Jane Bronte
Emily Jane Brontë (30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, no
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To Imagination
When weary with the long day's care, And earthly change from pain to pain, And lost, and ready to despair, Thy kind voice calls me back again:
How beautiful the Earth is still
How beautiful the Earth is To thee–how full of Happiness; How little fraught with real Or shadowy phantoms of distress;
Sympathy
There should be no despair for While nightly stars are burning; While evening pours its silent dew, And sunshine gilds the morning
The Visionary
Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep, Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;...
