The sail, too lonely, whitens
In bluish haze of sea,
What it looks in distant country?
What left in Own lands he?
A heavy wave, wind's singing
The mainmast creaks and bends,
(Alas) Good luck he isn't seeking
And not from luck he went.
'Neath, stream more bright than azure,
Up, golden ray of sun,
But anxious boat wants danger,
Though there rest's not found!
The Sail Лермонтов - Парус
© Copyright: Дитрих Даркер, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126040507134
Свидетельство о публикации №126040507134
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