I'm tir'd with all of these...
Shakespeare sonnet № 66
O, dear Will, I'm tir'd with all of these,
Like you was tir'd four centuries ago,
I see they bring a human to his knees,
I see they treat a human like a foe.
They trample behold desirt into a dirt,
And wisdom like before is not in honor,
And any scoundrel, any vile pervert
Can an innocent put into a corner.
Who should to service us - that lives like 'lord,
That ruins us to whom for aid we plea,
They cast away a talent into ward,
And genius - so better not to be.
And spongers jubilate in friendly way
When the unjust verdicts strike's with dismay.
To Shakespeare on 66-th sonnet
© Copyright: Борис Шрейбер, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105112902306
Свидетельство о публикации №105112902306
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