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Josephine Preston Peabody (Жозефина Престон Пибоди) The Sorrows If This is all it will be like, I wish to Die;--I don't care how-- While I am very, very young; As young as almost Now. They never felt what Sorrow was; Or never learned their Golden Rule; They say, _These are your happiest days_, --With School,--School,--School! When Saturday's all out of breath With all the week before in sight;-- And Monday coming after you Spoils every Sunday night! And Nothing done but yesterdays; And Nothing coming but to-morrows! Don't cheer me up. Please let me be. --I have the Sorrows. Josephine Preston Peabody's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1221 |
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