Ненавижу этот проклятый язык! Как подумаю, что мне его сдавать.. Искренне надеюсь, что я его не сдам, и поступлю туда, куда я хочу. Тогда в мире станет одним талантливым состоявшимся человеком больше, а одним бездарем-лингвистом, или даже социологом с владением ин.яз - меньше!
Зато какие стихи...
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Inwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Pale September
Pale September, I wore the time like a dress that year. The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin. But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared, my heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within. But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full and sank in the burrows of my keep.
He goes along just as a water lily. Gentle on the surface of his thoughts, his body floats. Unweighed down by passion or intensity, yet unaware of the depth upon which he coasts. And he finds a home in me, for what misfortune sows, he knows my touch will reap.
And all my armour falling down in a pile at my feet, and my winter giving way to warm as I m singing him to sleep. And all my armour falling down in a pile at my feet, and my winter giving way to warm as I m singing him to sleep.