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Cлово "IRON"


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
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1. * * * (How I love, how I loved to stare)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
2. * * * (All promised him to me)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
3. * * * (Divine angel, who betrothed us)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
4. * * * (I have visions of hilly Pavlovsk)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Примерный текст на первых найденных страницах

1. * * * (How I love, how I loved to stare)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: How I love, how I loved to stare At the ironclad shores, On the balcony, where forever No foot stepped, not mine, not yours. And in truth you are - a capital For the mad and luminous us; But when over Nieva sail Those special, pure hours And the winds of May fly over You past the iron beams You are like a dying sinner Seeing heavenly dreams
2. * * * (All promised him to me)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: All promised him to me: The heaven's edge, dark and kind, And lovely Christmas sleep And multi-ringing Easter wind, And the red branches of a twig, And waterfalls inside a park, And two dragonflies On rusty iron of a bulwark. And I could not disbelieve, That he'll befriend me all alone When on the mountain slopes I went Along hot pathway made of stone.
3. * * * (Divine angel, who betrothed us)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: Divine angel, who betrothed us Secretly on winter morn, From our sadness-free existence Does not take his darkened eyes. For this reason we love sky, And fresh wind, and air so thin, And the dark tree branches Behind fence of iron. For this reason we love the strict, Many-watered, and dark city, And we love the parting, And brief meetings' hour.
4. * * * (I have visions of hilly Pavlovsk)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: I have visions of hilly Pavlovsk, Meadow circular, water dead, With most heavy and most shady, All of this I will never forget. In the cast-iron gates you will enter, Blissful tremor the flesh does rile, You don't live, but you're screaming and ranting Or you live in another style. In late autumn fresh and biting Wanders wind, for its loneliness glad. In white gowns dressed the black fir trees On the molten snow stand. And, filled up with a burning fever, Dear voice sounds like song without word, And on copper shoulder of Cytharus Sits the red-chested bird.