Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. And what shoulder, & what art, What the hammer? what the chain, When the stars threw down their spears Tyger Tyger burning bright, 1790s |
Тигр, о Тигр, во мгле ночной Страшный сполох огневой! Кто бессмертный мастер сей Соразмерности твоей? Где глаза твои зажглись, — Как дерзнула та ладонь Молот чей? из кузни чьей? Звёзд лучистый хоровод, Тигр, о Тигр, во мгле ночной Смирнов-Садовский |
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Cradle Song – William Blake
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.