1 мин
Слушать(AI)The More Loving One
Looking up at the stars,
I know quite
That, for all they care,
I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, sayI missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
W H Auden
Wystan Hugh Auden (21 February 1907 – 29 September 1973) was an Anglo-American poet. Auden's poetry was noted for its stylistic and technical ac
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
If I Could Tell You
Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
The Fall of Rome
(for Cyril Connolly)The piers are pummelled by the waves; In a lonely field the Lashes an abandoned train; Outlaws fill the mountain caves
Epitaph On A Tyrant
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after, And the poetry he invented was easy to understand; He knew human folly like the back of his hand, And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
Night Mail
This is the night mail crossing the Border, Bringing the cheque and the postal order, Letters for the rich, letters for the poor, The shop at the corner, the girl next door