(no subject)
Вчера минут 30 постояла у одной полки с уцененными (совсем новыми!) книгами, и никак не смогла выбрать что-либо из художественной литературы. Зато купила отличный сборник поэзии Томаса Харди, и интересную, на мой взгляд, книгу автора Anton La Guardia "Holy Land, Unholy War: Israelis and Palestinians". Наконец-то смогу до конца разобраться с этим конфликтом.
Но сейчас не о нем: Вот, из Харди:
The ten hours' light is abating, And a late bird wings across, Where the pines, like waltzers waiting, Give their black heads a toss. Beech leaves, that yellow the noon-time, Float past like specks in the eye; I set every tree in my June time, And now they obscure the sky. And the children who ramble through here Conceive that there never has been A time when no tall trees grew here, That none will in time be seen.
Но сейчас не о нем: Вот, из Харди:
The ten hours' light is abating, And a late bird wings across, Where the pines, like waltzers waiting, Give their black heads a toss. Beech leaves, that yellow the noon-time, Float past like specks in the eye; I set every tree in my June time, And now they obscure the sky. And the children who ramble through here Conceive that there never has been A time when no tall trees grew here, That none will in time be seen.