Unquenchable thirst of love…. Михаил ГодовЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Love can't be jealous, as the passion can:

      The passions puts the hidden traps

      To which fall even those experienced

      With words of Iago, don't lie, don't condemn!

      Oh jealousy, you choose your prey from us

      And our hearts are painful and so hurt,

      You play the drum in rage, but now stop,

      Don't hurt the feeling by absurd mistrust

      The passion is the despot, so merciless

      No tyranny, which can be more wayward

      But love is balm, the therapy and ward

      Of all the soul's wounds, of all the turbulence,

      The Love is graceful, kind, but the most upheaval

      Brings jealousy, much envy and much evil.

      The love is free, such is its essence

      When flows, even stones break:

      The wall destroys and the defences:

      No shield is left for me to take!

      I wanted to erase her features

      And to forget… But then my heart

      Will ache and will cry out loud

      Nostalgia, the ghostly creature!

      I can't find help in the oblivion,

      By which I tried (while it was trifle)

      To hide the feeling, to forget… —

      But I give up and here's my chest:

      Well. Love is just a worthy rival

      To end my life, so sad, so trivial.

      Oh, can my affection be a sin

      When deep in love I lose myself

      No sinner is who duff and dumb

      Who cannot love and cannot feel

      Who laughs at highest words of love

      Who dear lady's eyes dislikes

      And lips of hers is not enjoying

      Who doesn't know the love's folly

      That one just lives in vain his life.

      And I recall now and again

      The Romeo and Juliette story

      These children's love was so involving

      And even death had brought them fame

      I drink a toast to loving souls

      Indifference is the greatest fault…

      Yes. Cupid shoots so randomly, but sure

      Defeating, dazzling everyone,

      Love potion's easy to be done:

      For youngster and for someone mature,

      For nun, for gigolo, no matter

      They all will suffer passion's pricks

      But the love's suit… Here's nothing better:

      And haute couture's extremely cheap!

      Cupid, your genre is operetta.

      You shoot the movies bright and splendid,

      You are the favourite of all ladies:

      Life's grey with you, and I don't flatter!

      And I'm subject to passion too

      I fell in love, so now I do…

      To you, oh, ladies, whom I loved

      All songs and sonnets're dedicated

      You're muses who inspire all created

      And Lord had sent me blessing from above.

      Yes, I was dumb, then fire of affection

      Revoked the answer in my soul

      So Earth before the dawn, so still, it is just waiting

      But with the first ray clamour will unroll

      Since then the Love's my genius and judge

      And beauty is my highest mentor

      And soul of mine, the humble shelter

      Is filled with feeling, I can't hide,

      I sing the praise, but not in vain

      Each line is warmed with loving flame!

      Oh, that's indeed is a kind of torture

      The bow touches vibrant chords…

      The violinist's young, but each accord

      Resounds like a voice of fortune.

      And gently violin surrenders

      And he is ardent, as a hun

      And wise, just like the runes creator.

      Soul, like a snail, went to the sun

      And opens up towards the music

      And, trembles like a singing violin,

      The spell of music make her sing

      She soared, clear and illusive

      In glowing worlds, so high above

      When filled with miracle of love…

      These autumn flowers in vase:

      Bright asters, roses, bunch of cranesbill…

      I give respect to nature thus —

      Which joins forms and author's will.

      I make attempt in every phrase

      To surface facets so precise,

      That filigree would not entice

      Won't be deceptive as the strase.

      So that like diamond, perfect sense,

      Was clear and concise, not flabby,

      And sacred as the walls of abbey…

      Oh Lord, give me talent and such strength

      To vent the soul enchanted cry!

      So lucid to all passing by…

      I crave to know all people as the dearest ones

      To realize the events inner wheels

      To see effect and reason, evident and clear:

      I want to be, more sapient and wise.

      Absurd's the monster, scariest of all!

      …And due to it men draw their swords —

      Because of it all funeral and grief,

      And people are more fierce the beasts!

      And cry of woe is now in vain,

      No word can ever reach their ears:

      Cause now's deafness for our souls to tear!

      Misunderstanding