W. H. Davies. Leisure
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare? –
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows;
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass;
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night;
No time to turn at Beauty's glance
And watch her feet, how they can dance;
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare!
Литература
Помогите найти стихи о времени на английском. О времени, а не о времени года.
The question that is asked the most; we hear it everyday,
"What time Is it?" they want to know, and then they go away.
It's time for bed, it's time for work, or time to feed the fishes,
It's time to take your medicine, or wash and dry the dishes.
Time in seconds, time in hours, so many freckles past a hair,
depending on the zone, or whether daylights savings there.
Time is measured many ways from minutes to months,
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once!
A time to live, a time to die, a time for having fun,
Clocks and calenders alike, all scheduled by the sun.
Intervals that cant be hurried, will not be denied,
a season that we know that's coming, as surely as the tide.
If there ever comes a time when time will be no more,
I wonder how we'll know to quit, or when it was before.
Do we hurry? Do we loaf? It depends upon the time...
Had we started earlier, we'd be finished with this rhyme.
"What time Is it?" they want to know, and then they go away.
It's time for bed, it's time for work, or time to feed the fishes,
It's time to take your medicine, or wash and dry the dishes.
Time in seconds, time in hours, so many freckles past a hair,
depending on the zone, or whether daylights savings there.
Time is measured many ways from minutes to months,
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once!
A time to live, a time to die, a time for having fun,
Clocks and calenders alike, all scheduled by the sun.
Intervals that cant be hurried, will not be denied,
a season that we know that's coming, as surely as the tide.
If there ever comes a time when time will be no more,
I wonder how we'll know to quit, or when it was before.
Do we hurry? Do we loaf? It depends upon the time...
Had we started earlier, we'd be finished with this rhyme.
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