. . To a false friend |
|
-
To a false friend.
Thomas Hood
Our hands have met, but not our hearts;
Our hands will never meet again.
Friends, if we have ever been,
Friends we cannot now remain:
I only know I loved you once;
I only know I loved in vain;
Our hands have met, but not our hearts;
Our hands will never meet again.
:
,
,
.
, ,
…
: ,
: …
,
…
, "".
: poems translation |
, November |
|
November
Thomas Hood
No sun – no moon!
No morn – no noon-
No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day-
No sky – no earthly view –
No distance looking blue –
No road – no street – no “to other side the way”
No end to any Row –
No indications where the Crescents go
No top to any steeple –
No recognition of familiar people.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthfulness,
No comfortable feel in any member –
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds –
No – vember.
.
.
,
.
,
, .
, , ,
.
, ,
.
, , .
, .
. ?!
, .
, ,
- , , :
-.
( )
2 :-)
:-)
.
...
, - ...
,
.
: november |
: | [1] |