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Слушать(AI)Sonnet IX
Oh to be idle loving idleness!
But I am idle all in hate of me;
Ever in action's dream, in the false
Of purposed action never set to be.
Like a fierce beast self-penned in a bait-lair,
My will to act binds with excess my action,
Not-acting coils the thought with raged despair,
And acting rage doth paint despair distraction.
Like someone sinking in a treacherous sand,
Each gesture to deliver sinks the more;
The struggle avails not, and to raise no hand,
Though but more slowly useless, we've no power. Hence live I the dead life each day doth bring, Repurposed for next day's repurposing.
Fernando Pessoa
Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa (13 June 1888 – 30 November 1935) was a Portuguese poet, writer, literary critic, translator, publisher and phi
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Sonnet XI
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Sonnet XII
As the lone, frighted user of a Suddenly turns round, nothing to detect, Yet on his fear's sense keepeth still the Of that brink-nothing he doth but suspect;
