Стихи и рассказы из категории upon

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I look in the mirror, my face is distorted.
How could I be loved.
I’m standing in shallow water, safe, stagnate and sad.
I’m standing up right, withering like a willow.
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Вторая ночь без сна,
Шестая кружка кофе,
Таинственный рассвет,
Бумаги на полу.
"ХОРОШО! В РАЮ! ЖИВУ!"
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I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost those starry diad...
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Thou water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life,        Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of thy reign,    Distills from thence the tears of wrath and strife,        And so turns wine to water back again
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I know no fitter subject for your view Then this, a meditation ripe for you,
As you for it
Which when you read you'l see What kind of wife your self will one day bee:
Which happy day be neer you, and may this Remain with you as earn...
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Hail sacred shades
cool, leavy House
Chaste treasurer of all my vows,
And wealth
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Gazing upon him now, severe and dead, It seemed a curious thing that she had lain Beside him many a night in that cold bed, And that had been which would not be again
From his desirous body the great heat Was gone at last, it seemed, and the ...
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"What I spent I had; what I saved,
I lost; what I gave,
I have
"But yesterday the tourney, all the eager joy of life,      The waving of the banners, and the rattle of the spears,
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News comes to Jianwai1 that Jibei has been recoveredand tears wet my garments when I hear the news
I turn to look at my wife, all sorrows gone,and roll up my writings carelessly in crazy joy
I sing loudly in the sun and can't wait to ind...
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Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass byA sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment,
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
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'Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand Hath fix'd upon the sotted age a brand To their swoll'n pride and empty scribbling due; It can nor judge, nor write, and yet 'tis true Thy comic muse, from the exalted line Touch'd by thy Alchemist, do...
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Must noble Hastings immaturely die,
The honour of his ancient family,
Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a wedding sheet
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Love's Sacrifice, and the Broken Heart
Thou cheat'st us,
Ford, mak'st one seem two by art ;
What is love's sacrifice but the broken heart
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Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow;
No, the day has wept its fill,
Spent its store of silent sorrow
O,
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Behold
three sister-wonders, in whom met,
Distinct and chast, the splendrous
Of Juno,
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To have liv'd eminent in a degreee Beyond our lofty'st flights, that is like thee;
Or t'have had too much merit is not safe;
For such excesses find no Epitaph
At common graves we have Poetick eyes Can melt themselves in easie Elegies;
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