Анна Ахматова: Поиск по текстам произведений автора и критике. Cлово "VOICE". Классическая русская литература.

Примерный текст на первых найденных страницах

Входимость: 3. Размер: 10кб.

Часть текста: December 9, 1913 Escape In Memory of June 19, 1914 July 1914 May Snow Parting Prayer Sleep Song about Song To my dear one Unification Village of the Tsar Statue White House * * * (Ah! It is you again. You enter in this house) * * * (All has been taken: strength as well as love) * * * (All promised him to me) * * * (All year long you are close to me) * * * (Ancient city is as if dead) * * * (Before the spring arrives there are such days) * * * (Best for me loudly the gaming-poems to say) * * * (Black road wove ahead of me) * * * (Bow of moon I see, I see) * * * (City vanished, the last house's window) * * * (Did for this, and for this only) * * * (Did not scold me, did not praise me) * * * (Divine angel, who betrothed us) * * * (Every evening I receive) * * * (From memory of you I will remove that day) * * * (God is unkind to gardeners and reapers) * * * (Has my fate really been so altered) * * * (He walked over fields and over village) * * * (He was jealous, fearful and tender) * * * (How can you look at Nieva) * * * (How I love, how I loved to stare) * * * (How often did I curse) * * * (How spacious are these squares) * * * (I came over to the...

Входимость: 3. Размер: 44кб.

Часть текста: Маскарад в парке Мелхола Милому Моему городу Молитва Мужество Муза Музе Музыка На Смоленском Над водой Надпись на книге Надпись на неоконченном портрете Надпись на портрете Нас четверо (Комаровские наброски) Наследница Наяву Новогодняя баллада Ночью О. Мандельштаму Обман Он любил Освобожденная Ответ (Какие странные слова) Отрывок Отрывок из поэмы (В то время я гостила на земле) Памяти 19 июля 1914 Памяти Александра Блока Памяти Анты Памяти Бориса Пильняка Памяти друга Памяти М.А. Булгакова Памяти М.М.З. Памяти Н.В.Н. Памяти Н.П. Первое возвращение Первый дальнобойный в Ленинграде Песенка (Таинственной невстречи) Песенка (Я на солнечном восходе) Песня о песне Песня последней встречи Побег Победителям Подвал памяти Подмосковное Подражание И.Ф.Анненскому Портрет автора в молодости Последнее возвращение Последнее стихотворение Последний тост Последняя песенка Последняя роза Похороны Почти в альбом Поэма без героя Предыстория Приморский сонет Причитание (Господеви поклонитеся) Причитание (Ленинградскую беду) Про стихи Нарбута Прогулка Путем всея земли Пушкин Разлука (Вечерний и наклонный) Разлука (Вот и берег северного моря) Распятие Реквием Родная земля Рыбак Сад Сероглазый король Смерть Софокла Смятение Современница Согражданам Сожженная тетрадь Сон (Был вещим этот сон или не вещим) Сон (Я знала, я снюсь тебе) Сонет Сонет-эпилог (Не пугайся, - я еще похожей) Стансы (Стрелецкая луна. Замоскворечье... Ночь) Статуя "Ночь" в Летнем саду Стихи о Петербурге Творчество Третий...

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: To lose the freshness of the words and sense, for us, Is it same as for an artist to lose vision, Or for an actor - voice and motion, Or for a gorgeous woman - her finesse? But do not seek now for yourself to keep What heaven has given to you below: We have been judged - and we ourselves both know - To give away, and not to keep. Or else alone you go to heal the blind, To know yourself in heavy hour of doubt The students' smug shaudenfreude And the uncaring of mankind.

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: I came over to the pine forest. It is hot, and the road is not short. He pushed back the door and came out Greyhaired, luminous, short. He looked at me, insolent bastard, And muttered at once, "Christ's bride! Do not envy success of the happy, A place for you there does hide. Do forget your parents' abode, Get accustomed to open heaven You will sleep on the straw and dirty, And will meet a blissful end." Truly, the priest must have heard On the way back my singing voice As I of untold happiness Marveled and rejoiced.

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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.

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: Not thus, from cursed lightness having disembarked, I look with worry on the chambers dark? Already used to ringing high and raw, Already judged not by the earthly law, I, like a criminal, am being drawn along To place of shame and execution long. I see the glorious city, and the voice most dear, As though there is no secret grave to fear, Where day and night, in heat and in cold bent, I must await the Final Judgment.

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Часть текста: He was jealous, fearful and tender, He loved me like God's only light, And that she not sing of the past times He killed my bird colored white. He said, in the lighthouse at sundown: "Love me, laugh and write poetry!" And I buried the joyous songbird Behind a round well near a tree. I promised that I would not mourn her. But my heart turned to stone without choice, And it seems to me that everywhere And always I'll hear her sweet voice.

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: The blue lacquer dims of heaven, And the song is better heard. It's the little trumpet made of dirt, There's no reason for her to complain. Why does she forgive me, And whoever told her of my sins? Or is that this voice that now repeats The last poems that you wrote for me?

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."

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.

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "VOICE"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "VOICE"