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Cлово "TODAY"


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
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1. * * * (Immortelle's dry and pink. On the fresh heaven)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
2. July 1914
Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.
3. * * * (The spring was still mysteriously swooning)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Примерный текст на первых найденных страницах

1. * * * (Immortelle's dry and pink. On the fresh heaven)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: Immortelle's dry and pink. On the fresh heaven The clouds are roughly pasted, almost dark. The leaves of only oak within the park Are still colorless and thin. The rays of dusk are burning until midnight. How nice it is inside my cramped abode! Today with me converse many-a-bird About the most tender, in delight. I'm happy. But the way, Forest and smooth, is to me most dear, The crippled bridge, curved a bit here, And that remain only several days.
2. July 1914
Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.
Часть текста: I Smells like burning. For four weeks now The dry ground on the swamplands bakes. Today even birds did not sing songs And the aspen-tree does not shake. Sun has stopped in divine displeasure Easter rain did not pelt fields hard. A one-legged passerby came here And alone said in the yard: "Awful times near. For freshly dug graves There will be not be enough place soon. Expect pest, expect plague, expect coward, And eclipses of Sun and Moon. But the enemy won't get to divide Our lands for his fun: Holy Mary will spread on her own Over great sorrows a white gown" II From the burning forests is flying Sweet smell of the evergreens. Over children soldiers' wives are moaning Cry of widows through village rings. Not in vain were the prayers rendered, The earth was thirsty for rain: The stomped-over fields with red dampness Were covered and covered remain. Low, low is the empty heaven, And quiet is the praying one's voice: "They will wound your most holy body And cast dice about your acts of choice."
3. * * * (The spring was still mysteriously swooning)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: The spring was still mysteriously swooning, Across the hills wandered transparent wind And the deep lake was growing blue among us - A temple forged and kept not by mankind. You were affrighted of our first encounter, And prayed already for the second one, And now today once more is the hot evening - How low over the mountain dropped the sun.. You aren't with me, but this is not a parting: For me triumphant news is in each moment. I know that you can't even pronounce a word For so complete within you is the torment.