Оливер Голдсмит (Oliver Goldsmith) Текст оригинала на английском языке A Sonnet WEEPING, murmuring, complaining, Lost to every gay delight; MYRA, too sincere for feigning, Fears th' approaching bridal night. Yet, why impair thy bright perfection? Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had MYRA followed my direction, She long had wanted cause of fear. |
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