Поиск по заголовкам произведений. Cлово "HOUSE". Классическая русская литература.

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Часть текста: Sun is frosty. In parade Soldiers march with all their might. I am glad at the January noon, And my fear is very light. Here they remember each branch And every silhouette. The raspberry light is dripping Through a snow-whitened net. Almost white was the house, Made of glass was the wing. How many times with numb arm Did I hold the doorbell's ring. How many times.. play, soldiers, I'll make my house, I'll espy You from a roof that's inclined, From the ivy that does not die. But who at last did remove it, Took away into foreign lands Or took out from the memory Forever the road thence.. Snow flies, like a cherry blossom, Distant bagpipes desist.. And, it seems like, nobody knows That the white house does not exist.

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Часть текста: City vanished, the last house's window Stared like one living and stark... This place is totally unfamiliar, Smells of burning, and field is dark. But when the curtain of thunder Moon had cut, indecisive and wan, We could see: On the hill, to the forest, Hobbled a handicapped man. It was frightening, that he's overcoming The three horses, sated and glad, He stood up and then again waddled Under his heavy load. We had almost failed to notice him Before the nomad-tent taking his place. Just like stars the blue eyes were shining, Lighting the tormented face. And I proffered to him the child, Raising arms with the trace of a chain He pronounced with joy and with ringing: "May your son live and healthy remain."

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Часть текста: Ah! It is you again. You enter in this house Not as a kid in love, but as a husband Courageous, harsh and in control. The calm before the storm is fearful to my soul. You ask me what it is that I have done of late With given unto me forever love and fate. I have betrayed you. And this to repeat - Oh, if you could one moment tire of it! The killer's sleep is haunted, dead man said, Death's angel thus awaits me at deathbed. Forgive me now. Lord teaches to forgive. In burning agony my flesh does live, And already the spirit gently sleeps, A garden I recall, tender with autumn leaves And cries of cranes, and the black fields around.. How sweet it would be with you underground!

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Часть текста: We noiselessly walked through the house, Not waiting for anything. They showed me way to the sick man, And I did not recognize him. He said, "Now let God have the glory" And became more thoughtful and blue. "It's long time that I hit the road, I've only been waiting for you. So you bother me in my fever, I keep those words from you. Tell me: can you not forgive me?" And I said, "I can do." It seemed, that the walls were shining From floor to the ceiling that day. Upon the silken blanket A withered arm lay. And the thrown-over predatory profile Became horribly heavy and stark, And one could not hear the breathing Through the bitten-up lips turned dark. But suddenly the last bit of strength Came alive in the eyes of blue: "It is good that you released me, Not always kind were you." And then the face became younger, And I recognized him once more. And then I said, "Holy Father, Accept a slave of yours."

Поиск по заголовкам произведенийCлово "HOUSE"

Поиск по заголовкам произведений
Cлово "HOUSE"