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СЧАСТЛИВЦЫ

Были же люди, кому повезло родиться году так в 1840-50 и помереть в 1913.
А с другой стороны - наверное, именно от них вся эта вера в прогресс.

Им-то что. У них жизнь удалась.



Comments

dmitry_sofronov
Nov. 3rd, 2016 10:08 am (UTC)
Anticipation? Foreboding?
From My Diary, July 1914

by Wilfred Owen

Leaves
Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards
Singing of summer, scything thro' the hay.
Bees
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling cold.
Fleshes
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead
Bordered about with warbling water brooks.
A maid
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.

allpoetry.com/From-My-Diary,-July-1914

Edited at 2016-11-03 10:12 am (UTC)