um poema em inglês no simple past
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Like winter, it became my absence
Of you, the pleasure of the year!
How cold I felt, what black days I saw!
December drought has spread all over the place!
And far away, then, summer,
This coming autumn, growing with all strength,
Enduring the lush weight of the beginning,
As wombs widowed after the death of their masters;
Although this large subject seems to me
The hope of orphans, and fruits without ancestry,
For summer and their pleasures serve them,
And, albeit distant, the same birds mute;
Or, if they sing, they emit such a dead trill,
That the leaves are pale, for fear of winter.(William Shakespeare)
Of you, the pleasure of the year!
How cold I felt, what black days I saw!
December drought has spread all over the place!
And far away, then, summer,
This coming autumn, growing with all strength,
Enduring the lush weight of the beginning,
As wombs widowed after the death of their masters;
Although this large subject seems to me
The hope of orphans, and fruits without ancestry,
For summer and their pleasures serve them,
And, albeit distant, the same birds mute;
Or, if they sing, they emit such a dead trill,
That the leaves are pale, for fear of winter.(William Shakespeare)
Respondido por
4
"It was just like winter when I left Of you, pleasure of a fugitive year: Night days, ice, inclemency; What nudity of December the cold live. And this time of exile was that of summer; Was the excessive pregnancy of autumn With the voluptuousness of May in each grain: A widowed womb, without master or master."
William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
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