Автор: THOMAS NASHE

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold […]

Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore; So fair a summer look for never more. All good things vanish, […]

Adieu, farewell, earth’s bliss; This world uncertain is; Fond are life’s lustful joys; Death proves them all but toys; I […]

Autumn hath all the summer’s fruitful treasure; Gone is our sport, fled is poor Croydon’s pleasure. Short days, sharp days, […]