1 мин
Слушать(AI)Muse
In my youth's years, she loved me,
I am sure.
The flute of seven pipes she gave in my
And harked to me with smile — without speed,
Along the ringing holes of the reed,
I got to play with my non-artful
The peaceful songs of Phrygian village singers,
And the important hymns, that gods to mortals bade.>From morn till night in oaks' silent shadeI diligently harked to the mysterious virgin;
Rewarding me, by chance, for any good decision,
And taking locks aside of the enchanting face,
She sometimes took from me the flute, such commonplace.
The reed became alive in consecrated
And filled the heart with holiness unceasing.
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin was a Russian poet, playwright, and novelist of the Romantic era who is considered by many to be the greatest Russ
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Under The Blue Skies
Under the blue skies of her native She languished and began to fade Until surely there flew without a Above me, her young shade;
The Song Of The Kasak
Kazak speeds ever toward the North, Kazak has never heart for rest, Not on the field, nor in the wood, Nor when in face of danger
On Count Voronstov
One half Milord, one half in trade, One half a sage, one half a dunce, One half a crook, but here for once There's every hope he'll make the grade
Goblins Of The Steppes
Stormy clouds delirious straying, Showers of whirling snowflakes white, And the pallid moonbeams waning--Sad the heavens, sad the night Further speeds the sledge, and further,
