Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "WET"


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. * * * (My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
2. * * * (Instead of wisdom - experience, bare)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
3. * * * (When with a strong but tired hand)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.

Примерный текст на первых найденных страницах

1. * * * (My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: My voice is weak, but will does not get weaker. It has become still better without love, The sky is tall, the mountain wind is blowing My thoughts are sinless to true God above. The sleeplessness has gone to other places, I do not on grey ashes count my sorrow, And the skewed arrow of the clock face Does not look to me like a deadly arrow. How past over the heart is losing power! Freedom is near. I will forgive all yet, Watching, as ray of sun runs up and down The springtime vine that with spring rain is wet.
2. * * * (Instead of wisdom - experience, bare)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.
Часть текста: Instead of wisdom - experience, bare, That does not slake thirst, is not wet. Youth's gone - like a Sunday prayer.. Is it mine to forget? On how many desert roads have searched I With him who wasn't dear for me, How many bows gave in church I For him, who had well loved me. I've become more oblivious than inviting, Quietly years swim. Lips unkissed, eyes unsmiling - Nothing will give me back him.
3. * * * (When with a strong but tired hand)
Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.
Часть текста: When with a strong but tired hand In dreary capital of nation Upon the whiteness of the page I did record my recantations, And wind into the window round Poured in a wet and silent stream The sky was burning, burning bright With smoky dawn, it so did seem. I did not look at the Nieva, The dawn-drenched granite did not view, And it appeared that that I, awake, my Unforgettable, saw you.. But then the unexpected night Covered the before-autumn town, That, so as to assist my flight, The ashen shadows melted down. I only took with me the cross, That you had given on day of treason That wormwood steppe should be in bloom And winds, like sirens, sing in season. And here upon an empty wall He keeps me from the broodings dour And I don't fear to recall Anything - even the final hour.