Стихи и рассказы из категории must

Love, we must part now: do not let it be Calamitious and bitter
In the past There has been too much moonlight and self-pity:
Let us have done with it: for now at last Never has sun more boldly paced the sky,
Never were hearts more e...

I must go down to the sea again,     to the lonely sea and the sky;
I left my shoes and socks there -     I wonder if they're dry

If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursèd lot.

To sing jubilas at exact, accustomed times,
To be crested and wear the mane of a multitude And so, as part, to exult with its great throat,
To speak of joy and to sing of it, borne on The shoulders of joyous men, to feel the heart That i...

If thou must love me, let it be for
Except for love's sake only
Do not say"I love her for her smile—her look—her
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of

Surgeons must be very careful    When they take the knife
Underneath their fine incisions    Stirs the Culprit—Life
Composition Date: ca
1859

O
Wanderers in the shadowed
Despair not
For though dark they stand,

What is it that makes little Emily cry
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye:
There­ — lay down your head on my bosom­ — that's right,
And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night

I must remember now how once I woke To find the harsh lamplight stream upon her bed,
The ceiling tremble in its giddy smoke,
And on the wall the agile spider spread,
To hear the reverberate vault of silence shake Beneath the hollow ...

AT is it that makes little Emily cry
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye:
There–lay down your head on my bosom–that's right,
And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night

Unto seventy years and seven, Hide your double birthright well-You, that are the brat of Heaven And the pampered heir to Hell
Let your rhymes be tinsel treasures, Strung and seen and thrown aside
Drill your apt and docile measures Sternl...

I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile;
Flowers have a time before they come to seed,
And she is young and now must sport the while
Ah, sport, sweet Maid, in season of these ...