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Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away Carl Sandburg What is poetry?
The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking Over harbor and city On silent haunches And then moves on Carl Sandburg
All In green went my love riding On a great horse of gold Into the silver dawn. e.e.cummings
Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. Кто говорит, мир от огня Погибнет, кто от льда. А что касается меня, Я за огонь стою всегда. Но если дважды гибель ждет Наш мир земной,— ну что ж, Тогда для разрушенья лед Хорош, И тоже подойдет. Перевод М. Зенкевича
You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of a baker, and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. -Billy Collins Metaphor
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