Стихи и рассказы из категории know

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The old guy put down his beer
Son, he said,      (and a girl came over to the table where we were:      asked us by Jack Christ to buy her a drink
)  Son,
I am going to tell you something  The like of which nobody was ever told
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All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:
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Men say they know many things;
But lo
they have taken wings, —The arts and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
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Know,
Celia, since thou art so proud,'Twas I that gave thee thy renown
Thou hadst in the forgotten
Of common beauties lived
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You know where you did despise (Tother day) my little Eyes, Little Legs, and little Thighs, And some things, of little Size, You know where
You, tis true, have fine black eyes, Taper legs, and tempting Thighs, Yet what more than all we prize ...
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I walk so often, late, along the streets,
Lower my gaze, and hurry, full of dread,
Suddenly, silently, you still might
And I would have to gaze on all your
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I don't Know if history repeats
But I do know that you don't
I remember that city was didvided Not only between Jews and Arabs,
But Between me and you,
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We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies—
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A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
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I know,
I
How much it hurts, this
With no faith nor
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Those who always know what’s bestarea universal pest
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She even thinks that up in heaven    Her class lies late and
While poor black cherubs rise at seven    To do celestial chores
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You know the place: then Leave Crete and come to us waiting where the grove is pleasantest, by precincts sacred to you; incense smokes on the altar, cold streams murmur through the apple branches, a young rose thicket shades the ground and quiveri...
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I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the full four seasons of the year;
And you must welcome from another
Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear
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I plucked my soul out of its secret place,
And held it to the mirror of my eye,
To see it like a star against the sky,
A twitching body quivering in space,
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We never know how high we
Till we are asked to
And then if we are true to
Our statures touch the skies—The Heroism we
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