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Arthur William Symons (Артур Саймонс (Симонс)) Hands The little hands too soft and white To have known more laborious hours Than those which die upon a night Of kindling wine and fading flowers; The little hands that I have kissed, Finger by finger, to the tips, And delicately about each wrist Have set a bracelet with my lips; Dear soft white little morbid hands, Mine all one night, with what delight Shall I recall in other lands, Dear hands, that you were mine one night! Arthur William Symons's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1332 |
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