2 мин
Слушать(AI)Esther A Sonnet Sequence III
A little honey!
Ay, a little sweet,
A little pleasure when the years were young,
A joyous measure trod by dancing feet,
A tale of folly told by a loved tongue.
These are the things by which our hearts are wrung More than by tears.
Oh,
I would rather laugh,
So I had not to choose such tales among Which was most laughable.
Man's nobler half Resents mere sorrow.
I would rather sit With just the common crowd that watch the play And mock at harlequin and the clown's wit,
And call it tragedy and go my way.
I should not err, because the tragic part Lay not in these, but sealed in my own heart.
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (17 August 1840[1] – 10 September 1922[2]), sometimes spelled Wilfred, was an English poet and writer. He and his wife, Lad
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Twenty Days
Twenty days are barely gone, I was merry all the day Folly was my butt of scorn Now the fool myself I play
Three Pictures
I have seen many things in many lands, And many sorrows known and many joys, And clutched at pleasure's cup with lawless hands, And drunk my fill of mirth and lust and noise,
Sed Nos Qui Vivimus
How beautiful is life--the physical joy of sense and breathing; The glory of the world which has found speech and speaks to us; The robe which summer throws in June round the white bones of winter; The new birth of each day, itself ...
Written At Sea
What is my quarrel with thee, beautiful sea, That thus I cannot love thy waves or thee, Or hear thy voice but it tormenteth me Why do I hate thee, who art beautiful Beyond all beauty, when the nights are cool,
