Отсчёт в году идёт по временам.
Они всегда со мною на виду.
Весны капризной ощутив обман,
Расплёсканную в небе красоту.
Роскошеств лета неземных,
Вкусив весной нектар любви,
Я возношусь в божественные сны
И там на фоне облаков,
Спасительный покинув грот,
Моя душа парит на крыльях в осень,
Чтобы на мир взглянуть, подальше от забот
Отметив бег ручья, куда Зима идёт.
Снегами с неба запорошит
В оковы смерти закуёт.
Мои времена
© Copyright: Юрий Боков 2, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119033002282
Свидетельство о публикации №119033002282
Рецензии
John Keats
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
Юрий Боков 2 30.03.2019 08:59 • Заявить о нарушении
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
Юрий Боков 2 30.03.2019 08:59 • Заявить о нарушении