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Слушать(AI)Nemesis
All things must fade.
There is for cities tall The same tomorrow as for daffodils:
Time's wind, that casts the seed, the petal spills.
Grim London's ruined arches yet shall fall Back to the arms of Earth.
A quiet pall The mother draws over those she loves—and kills;
And though brief nations vaunt their upstart wills,
The nemesis of grass shall cover all.
So—from a caravan to Mecca bound Getting no more than one incurious glance— Tremendous Babylon, thrice-girt with walls,
Sick of her thousand years of arrogance,
With a few tamarisks upon a mound Her epigraph upon the desert scrawls.
Arthur Henry Adams
Arthur Henry Adams (6 June 1872 – 4 March 1936) was a journalist and author. He started his career in New Zealand, though he spent most of it in
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HE sudden sunbeams slant between the Like solid bars of silver moonlight kissed, And strike the supine shadows where they
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SO I have kissed you And this hour is mine Its light along the level future lasts, It crowns a drab eternity of Pasts
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LL the air was tranced and the sea was stilled, And we stood and dreamed of a world to be When it seemed to me that our souls were With a sudden sympathy
To The Best Of Women My Mother
I would give it all up at a word from you, Mother o' mine But the strife has That I dare not shun:
