А иногда Машенька скучала. . . для этого она выбирала определённый день, с утра начинала бегать медленнее, становилась задумчивой. . . а вечером забиралась куда повыше и сидела, провожая взглядом закат и лениво поглощая шоколадные конфетки. . . о ...
If so it hap this offspring of my care,
These fatal Anthems, sad and mournful Songs,
Come to their view, who like afflicted are;
Let them yet sigh their own, and moan my wrongs
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd,— The wild waves whist,— Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear
HE
RD
KE OF
HE
Scene
—Inside the Turret on the Hill above Asolo
Luigi and his Mother entering
If there blew wind, you'd hear a long sigh,
Poor melancholy bird—-that all night long Tell'st to the Moon, thy tale of tender woe;
From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow,
And whence this mournful melody of song
Thy poet's musing fancy would translate What mean the sou...
With coat of Lincoln green and mantle too,
And horn of ivory mouth, and buckle bright,
And arrows wing'd with peacock-feathers light,
And trusty bow well gather'd of the yew,--Stands Robin Hood: -- and near, with eyes of
There are who lord it o'er their
With most prevailing tinsel: who
Their baaing vanities, to browse
The comfortable green and juicy
О милый друг, оставь угадывать других Предмет, сомнительный для них,
Тех песней пламенных, в которых, восхищенный,
Я прославлял любовь, любовью распаленный
Пусть ищут, для кого я в лиру ударял, Когда поэтов в хоре Российской Терпсих...
Пия душистый сок цветочка,
Пчела дает нам мед взамен;
Хотя твой лоб - пустая бочка,
Но все же ты не Диоген
How blest art thou, canst love the countrey,
Wroth, Whether by choyce, or fate, or both
And, though so neere the Citie, and the Court, Art tane with neithers vice, nor sport:
That at great times, art no ambitious guest Of Sheriffes ...
Since we’re not young, weeks have to do timefor years of missing each other
Yet only this odd warpin time tells me we’re not young
Did I ever walk the morning streets at twenty,my limbs streaming with a purer joy
did I lean from any...