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Çàðàç íà ñàéò³ - 1
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Ïåðåâ³ðêà ðîçì³ðó




Thomas Wyatt

Ïðî÷èòàíèé : 151


Òâîð÷³ñòü | Á³îãðàô³ÿ | Êðèòèêà

Lux, My Fair Falcon

Lux,  my  fair  falcon,  and  your  fellows  all,  
How  well  pleasant  it  were  your  liberty.  
Ye  not  forsake  me  that  fair  might  ye  befall,  
But  they  that  sometime  liked  my  company,  
Like  lice  away  from  dead  bodies  they  crawl.  
Lo,  what  a  proof  in  light  adversity.  
But  ye,  my  birds,  I  swear  by  all  your  bells,  
Ye  be  my  friends,  and  so  be  but  few  else.


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