Or is this game truly truly over?
Where are winters, when I fell asleep
In the morning in the sixth hour?

In a new way, severely and calmly,
I now live on the wild shore.
I can no longer pronounce
The tender or idle word.

I can't believe that Christmas-tide is coming.
Touchingly green is this the steppe before
The beaming sun. Like a warm
Wave, licks the tender shore.

When from happiness languid and tired
I was, then of such quiet
With trembling inexpressible I dreamed
And this ... Читать дальше »

Автор: Ганс Христиан Андерсен

THERE was a little fish—a salt-water fish—of good family: I don’t recall the name—you will have to get that from the learned people. This little fish had eighteen hundred brothers and sisters all just as old as he; they did not know their father and mother, and were obliged to look out for themselves at the very beginning, and swim round, but that was great sport. They had water enough to drink, the entire ocean; they thought nothing about their food, it came when they wanted it. Each did as it pleased, each was to make out its own story—ay, rather none of them thought at all about that. The sun shone down on the water that was light about them, so clear was it. It was a world with the strangest creatures, and some very horrid and big, with great gaping mouths that could gulp down all the eighteen hundred brothers and sisters, but neither did th ... Читать дальше »