Give her but a least excuse... «Pippa Passes»
innashpitzberg28 мая 2013Give her but a least excuse to love me! When—where How—can this arm establish her above me, If fortune fired her as my lady there, There already, to eternally reprove me? (‘Hist’—said Kate the queen; But ‘Oh’—cried the maiden, binding her tresses, ’Tis only a page that carols unseen Crumbling your hounds their messes!’ Is she wronged?—To the rescue of her honour, My heart Is she poor?—What costs it to be styled a donor? Merely an earth’s to cleave, a sea’s to part! But that fortune should have thrust all this upon her! (‘Nay, list,’-bade Kate the queen; And still cried the maiden, binding her tresses, ‘’Tis only a page that carols unseen Fitting your hawks their jesses!’
8 понравилось72
