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самая длинная ночь в году...
Люблю я этот нехитрый стишок.
Robert Frost
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
no subject
Gin a body meet a body
Comin' thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
По-моему, как стихи это сильно лучше. А Фрост хорош, как рождественский carrol, как Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
no subject
Twinkle, twinkle, little star - совершенно лишено зримости и физической ощутимости. В ней именно что слова, а у Фроста - за словами...