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Название книги: The End of All Songs
Автор(ы): Michael Moorcock
Жанр: Научная Фантастика
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-End-of-All-Songs-146603.html
The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof, (This is the end of every song man sings!) The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain, Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain; And health and hope have gone the way of love Into the drear oblivion of lost things, Ghosts go along with us until the end; This was a mistress, this, perhaps, a friend. With pale, indifferent eyes, we sit and wait For the dropt curtain and the closing gate: This is the end of all the songs man sings. ERNEST DOWSON Dregs 1899
1. In Which Jherek Carnelian and Mrs. Amelia Underwood Commune, to some Degree, with Nature
"I really do think, Mr. Carnelian, that we should at least try them raw, don't you?"Mrs. Amelia Underwood, with the flat of her left hand, stroked thick auburn hair back over her ear and, with her right hand, arranged her tattered skirts about her ankles. The gesture was almost petulant; the glint in her grey eye was possibly wolfish. There was, if nothing else, something over-controlled in the manner i
Название книги: The End of All Songs
Автор(ы): Michael Moorcock
Жанр: Научная Фантастика
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-End-of-All-Songs-146603.html
The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof, (This is the end of every song man sings!) The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain, Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain; And health and hope have gone the way of love Into the drear oblivion of lost things, Ghosts go along with us until the end; This was a mistress, this, perhaps, a friend. With pale, indifferent eyes, we sit and wait For the dropt curtain and the closing gate: This is the end of all the songs man sings. ERNEST DOWSON Dregs 1899
1. In Which Jherek Carnelian and Mrs. Amelia Underwood Commune, to some Degree, with Nature
"I really do think, Mr. Carnelian, that we should at least try them raw, don't you?"Mrs. Amelia Underwood, with the flat of her left hand, stroked thick auburn hair back over her ear and, with her right hand, arranged her tattered skirts about her ankles. The gesture was almost petulant; the glint in her grey eye was possibly wolfish. There was, if nothing else, something over-controlled in the manner i
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