Cлово "BITTER"


А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И Й К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Поиск  
1. * * * (How often did I curse)
Входимость: 1.
2. Prayer
Входимость: 1.
3. * * * (This city by the fearsome river)
Входимость: 1.
4. * * * (Somewhere is light and happy, in elation)
Входимость: 1.

Примерный текст на первых найденных страницах

1. * * * (How often did I curse)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: How often did I curse This sky, this earth as well, The slowly waving arms Of this ancient windmill. In a wing there lies a dead man, Straight and grayhaired, on a bench, As he did three years ago. Thus the mice whet with their teeth Books, thus the stearine candle Leans its flame to the left. And the odious tambourine From the Nizhny Novgorod Sings an uningenious song Of my bitter happiness. And the brightly painted Dahlias stood straight Along silver road. Where are snails and wormwood. Thus it was: Incarceration Became second country, And the first I cannot dare Recollect even in prayer.
2. Prayer
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: Give me bitter years in malady Breathlessness, sleeplessness, fever, Both a friend and a child and mysterious Gift take away forever - Thus I pray after your liturgy After many exhausting days, That the cloud over dark Russia Become cloud in the glory of rays.
3. * * * (This city by the fearsome river)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: This city by the fearsome river Was my crib blessed and dear And a solemn wedding bed Which the garlands for the head Your young cherubs held above - A city loved with bitter love. The subject of my prayers Were you, moody, calm, and austere. There first the groom came to me Having shown me the pathway holy, And that sad muse of mine Led me like one blind.
4. * * * (Somewhere is light and happy, in elation)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: Somewhere is light and happy, in elation, Transparent, warm and simple life there is. A man across the fence has conversation With girl before the evening, and the bees Hear only the tenderest of conversation. And we are living pompously and hard And follow bitter rituals like sun When, flight past us, the unreasoned wind Interrupts speech that's barely begun. But not for anything will we change the pompous Granite city of glory, pain and lies, The glistening wide rivers' ice Sunless and murky gardens, and the voice, Though barely audible, of the Muse.

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