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-,2020



ISBN978-5-4498-4587-0

     Ridero


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.  150


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		SONNET150
		O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
		With insufficiency my heart tosway?
		Tomake me give the lie tomy true sight,
		And swear that brightness doth not grace theday?
		Whence hast thou this becoming ofthingsill,
		That inthe very refuse ofthy deeds
		There is such strength and warrantise ofskill
		That, inmy mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
		Who taught thee how tomake me love theemore
		The more Ihear and see just cause ofhate?
		O, though Ilove what others do abhor,
		With others thou shouldst not abhor my state;
		If thy unworthiness raisd love inme,
		More worthy Itobe beloved ofthee.




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		141-  

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		Infaith, Ido not love thee with mine eyes,
		For they inthee athousand errors note,
		But tis my heart that loves what they despise,
		Who indespite ofview is pleased todote.
		Nor are mine ears with thy tonguestune
		delighted,
		Nor tender feeling tobase touches prone,
		Nor taste, nor smell, desire tobe invited
		Toany sensual feast with thee alone;
		But my five wits nor my five sensescan
		Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
		Who leaves unswayed the likeness ofaman,
		Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretchto
		be.
		Only my plague thus far Icount my gain,
		That she that makes me sin awards me pain.




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		132-  .

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		Thine eyes Ilove, and they, as pityingme,
		Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
		Have put on black, and loving mournersbe,
		Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
		And truly not the morning sun ofheaven
		Better becomes the grey cheeks ofthe east,
		Nor that full star that ushers intheeven
		Doth half that glory tothe sober west,
		As those two mourning eyes become thy face.
		Olet it then as well beseem thy heart
		Tomourn for me, since mourning doththee
		grace,
		And suit thy pity like inevery part.
		Then will Iswear beauty herself is black,
		And all they foul that thy complexion lack.




   


		128-  .

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		How oft, when thou, my music, music playst,
		Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
		With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently
		swayst
		The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
		Do Ienvy those jacks that nimbleleap
		Tokiss the tender inward ofthy hand,
		Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest
		reap,
		At the woods boldness bythee blushing stand!
		Tobe so tickled, they would change their state
		And situation with those dancing chips,
		Oer whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
		Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
		Since saucy jacks so happy are inthis,
		Give them thy fingers, me thy lips tokiss.




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		152-  , - 
		

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		Inloving thee thou knowst Iam forsworn,
		But thou art twice forsworn, tomelove
		swearing:
		Inact thy bed-vow broke, and new faithtorn
		Invowing new hate after new love bearing.
		But why oftwo oaths breach do Iaccuse thee,
		When Ibreak twenty? Iam perjured most,
		For all my vows are oaths but tomisuse thee,
		And all my honest faith inthee is lost,
		For Ihave sworn deep oaths ofthydeep
		kindness,
		Oaths ofthy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
		And toenlighten thee gave eyes toblindness,
		Or made them swear against the thing theysee:
		For Ihave sworn thee fair: more perjuredeye,
		Toswear against the truth so foul alie.




 






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		Hermnn Hesse

		Kopflos

		Man nehm den Deckel nur vom Topfe
		Und sieh, wie froh der Dampf entweicht!
		Wie lebt nach abgeschnittnem Kopfe
		Das schwere Leben sich so leicht!

		Kein Schnupfen mehr, kein Nasentropfen,
		ein Zahnweh und kein Augenbrand
		Noch Stirnkatarrh noch Schlaefenklopfen,
		Es ist wie im Schlaraffenland.

		Zwar gibt es ohne Kopf kein Denken,
		Doch ist es darum nicht so schad,
		Man kann mit Wein die Kehle traenken,
		Es ist das beste Gurgelbad.

		Und ach, wie lebt es sich so stille:
		Kein Wort, kein Laerm, kein grelles Licht!
		Und nie mehr sucht man seine Brille
		Und nie mehr macht man ein Gedicht.




 .  


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		Das Gl; ck ist eine leichte Dirne,
		Und weilt nicht gern am selbenOrt;
		Sie streicht das Haar dir von der Stirne
		Und k;;t dich rasch und flattert fort.

		Frau Ungl; ck hat im Gegentheile
		Dich liebefest ans Herz gedr;ckt;
		Sie sagt, sie habe keine Eile,
		Setzt sich zu dir ans Bett und strickt.




 . ,   


		  ,
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		 , ,
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		   nocturne,
		   !

		; (. nocturne )
		  XIX  
		( , 堖 )
		,  .

		Der Brief

		Der Brief, den du geschrieben,
		Er hat mich gar nicht bang;
		Du willst mich nicht mehr lieben,
		Aber dein Brief ist lang.

		Zw; lf Seiten, eng und zierlich!
		Ein kleines Manuskript!
		Man schreibt nicht so ausf; hrlich,
		Wenn man den Abschied gibt.




 






 頖  ,  .




  25 -


		1
		You shouldnt sleep when your fellow is crying,
		And his soul is inneed ofyour help.
		You will never forgive that you were callous
		and the moments ofbliss youll neverget!




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   ,     (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=51689252)  .

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