прислано 14:35 (GMT+2) Чт, 22 марта 2012 г.
Уильям Шекспир сонет №2
When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty′s field,
Thy youth′s proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter′d weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask′d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty′s use,