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Слушать(AI)To-- One word is too often profaned
I.
One word is too often
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more
Than that from another.
II.
I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts
And the Heavens reject not,--The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Percy Bysshe Shelley (/bɪʃ/ (About this soundlisten) BISH;[1][2] 4 August 1792 – 8 July 1822) was one of the major English Romantic poets, widel
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