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

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Сайт: http://ahmatova.niv.ru Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: He walked over fields and over village, And asked people from afar: "Where is she, where is the happy glimmer Of her eyes that are gray stars? Here the final days of spring Come along, in turbid fire. Still more frequent, still more tender Are the dreams I have of her." And he came in the dark city In the quiet evening time He was thinking then of Venice And of London all the same. At the church both tall and dark Stepped on shining stairs' granite And he prayed then of the coming Meeting with his first delight. And above the altar made of gold Flamed away the garden of God's rays: "Here she is, here is the happy glimmer Of gray joyous stars that are her eyes."

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Часть текста: brandy, and it was already a glass too much. "Get along with you, Jesuits!" he cried to the servants. "Go away, Smerdyakov. I'll send you the gold piece I promised you to-day, but be off! Don't cry, Grigory. Go to Marfa. She'll comfort you and put you to bed. The rascals won't let us sit in peace after dinner," he snapped peevishly, as the servants promptly withdrew at his word. "Smerdyakov always pokes himself in now, after dinner. It's you he's so interested in. What have you done to fascinate him?" he added to Ivan. "Nothing whatever," answered Ivan. "He's pleased to have a high opinion of me; he's a lackey and a mean soul. Raw material for revolution, however, when the time comes." "There will be others and better ones. But there will be some like him as well. His kind will come first, and better ones after." "And when will the time come?" "The rocket will go off and fizzle out, perhaps. The peasants are not very fond of listening to these soup-makers, so far." "Ah, brother, but a Balaam's ass like that thinks and thinks, and the devil knows where he gets to." "He's storing up ideas," said Ivan, smiling. "You see, I know he can't bear me, nor anyone else, even you, though you fancy that he has a...

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Часть текста: I came over to the pine forest. It is hot, and the road is not short. He pushed back the door and came out Greyhaired, luminous, short. He looked at me, insolent bastard, And muttered at once, "Christ's bride! Do not envy success of the happy, A place for you there does hide. Do forget your parents' abode, Get accustomed to open heaven You will sleep on the straw and dirty, And will meet a blissful end." Truly, the priest must have heard On the way back my singing voice As I of untold happiness Marveled and rejoiced.

Поиск по заголовкам произведенийCлово "OVER"

Поиск по заголовкам произведений
Cлово "OVER"