My sorrow, when she"s here with me, ??Thinks these dark days of autumn rain ??Are beautiful as days can be; ??She loves the bare, the withered tree; ??She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. ...

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far!That show's the darkness thou canst not dispel,How like art thou to joy remember'd well!So gleams the past, the light of other days,Which shines, but warms...

Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snow-bank steam; Find the brown beneath the white; But whate'er you do to-night, Bathe my window, make it flow...

В Юяне ливень льёт уже давно,Буруны пенистые рвутся к облакам.Из Циньвандао, чтоб не лечь на дно,Бегом несётся судно по волнам.Рыбацкий бот в объятиях воды,К какому берегу причалишь ты?Многие тайны скрывает время!На Цзешиша...

One of my wishes is that those dark trees,So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,But stretched away unto the edge of doom.I should not be withheld but that some dayInto their vas...

I left you in the morning,And in the morning glow,You walked a way beside meTo make me sad to go.Do you know me in the gloaming,Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming?Are you dumb because you know me not,Or dumb because you know?...

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth - Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches...

When the wind works against us in the dark, And pelts with snow The lower chamber window on the east, And whispers with a sort of stifled bark, The beast, 'Come out! Come out!' - It costs no inward struggle not to go, Ah, no! ...

Now close the windows and hush all the fields: If the trees must, let them silently toss; No bird is singing now, and if there is, Be it my loss. It will be long ere the marshes resume, It will be long ere the earliest bird: S...

They leave us so to the way we took, As two in whom they were proved mistaken, That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook, With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look, And try if we cannot feel forsaken.Упущения ради. Роберт Фрост....