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Çàðàç íà ñàéò³ - 1
Ïîøóê

Ïåðåâ³ðêà ðîçì³ðó




Thomas Campion

Ïðî÷èòàíèé : 140


Òâîð÷³ñòü | Á³îãðàô³ÿ | Êðèòèêà

Thrice Toss Those Oaken Ashes in the Air

Thrice  toss  those  oaken  ashes  in  the  air;  
Thrice  sit  thou  mute  in  this  enchanted  chair;  
Then  thrice  three  times  tie  up  this  true  love's  knot,  
And  murmur  soft:  "She  will,  or  she  will  not."  
Go  burn  those  poisonous  weeds  in  yon  blue  fire,  
These  screech-owl's  feathers  and  this  prickling  briar,  
This  cypress  gathered  at  a  dead  man's  grave,  
That  all  thy  fears  and  cares  an  end  may  have.  
Then  come,  you  fairies,  dance  with  me  a  round;  
Melt  her  hard  heart  with  your  melodious  sound.  
In  vain  are  all  the  charms  I  can  devise;  
She  hath  an  art  to  break  them  with  her  eyes.  



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