English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 63. Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded. Томас Мур. Из цикла «Ирландские мелодии». 63. Приди, я заплачу с тобой!

Thomas Moore (Томас Мур) From “Irish Melodies”. 63. Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded HAS sorrow thy young days shaded, As clouds o’er the morning fleet? Too fast have those young days faded That, even in sorrow, were sweet? Does Time with his cold wing wither Each feeling […]

English Poetry. Abraham Cowley. Not Fair. Абрахам Каули.

Abraham Cowley (Абрахам Каули) Not Fair ‘T IS very true, I thought you once as fair As women in th’ idea are;* Whatever here seems beauteous, seem’d to be But a faint metaphor of thee: But then, methoughts, there something shin’d within, Which casts this lustre o’er thy […]

English Poetry. Charlotte Brontё. Apostasy. Шарлотта Бронте.

Charlotte Brontё (Шарлотта Бронте) Apostasy THIS last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; And, though upon my bed of death, I call not back a word. Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,­ Thy sightless saint of stone; She cannot, from this burning breast, Wring one […]

English Poetry. Charlotte Brontё. Regret. Шарлотта Бронте.

Charlotte Brontё (Шарлотта Бронте) Regret Long ago I wished to leave “The house where I was born;” Long ago I used to grieve, My home seemed so forlorn. In other years, its silent rooms Were filled with haunting fears; Now, their very memory comes O’ercharged with tender tears. […]