Though small my basket, all my toil Filled it with mouse-ears but in part. I set it on the path, and sighed For the dear master of my heart. My steeds, o'er-tasked, their progress stayed, When midway up that rocky height. Give me a cup from that gilt vase-- When shall this longing end in sight? To mount that lofty ridge I drove, Until my steeds all changed their hue. A cup from that rhinoceros's horn May help my longing to subdue. Striving to reach that flat-topped hill, My steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain; My driver also sank oppressed:-- I'll never see my lord again!
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СлушатьLamenting The Absence Of A Cherished Friend
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Confucius Confucius
Confucius (/kənˈfjuːʃəs/ kən-FEW-shəs; Chinese: 孔夫子; pinyin: Kǒng Fūzǐ, "Master Kǒng"; 551–479 BC)[1][2] was a Chinese philosopher and politicia…
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