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�, ��� �����, ��������� ������,
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� � ��� �� ��� ����������� � ����.
���� � � ����� �� ���������� �����,
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� ��� ���������, � ����� ������� ����.
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����� � �����, - �������� �� ����.
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-
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,--
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
�����
| sacred- ������� 04.03.2010 23:39:29: ��� ����-����...
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| �_�������� ������� 01.11.2009 23:57:42: �������� ;)
� ��� ���� � ICQ =)
|
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| sacred- ������� 20.10.2009 04:48:14: Paradise..
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