| par realitāti |
[Feb. 20th, 2025|01:05 pm] |
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Mans ķermenis cenšas mani atslēgt no realitātes ar nenormālām galvas sāpēm. |
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[Feb. 14th, 2025|08:45 am] |
Sonnet 104: To me, fair friend, you never can be old
By William Shakespeare
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.
Fun fact: pastāv diezgan valīda teorija, ka čalītis, kuram šis dzejolis veltīts, ļubestības sākumā ir bijis astoņpadsmitgadīgs, un, kā redzam, dzejolis runā par apmēram trīs gadu periodu. |
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