Wiersze

• The Waste Land - II. A Game of Chess
  Thomas Stearns Eliot
  The chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass...

• IN A DISUSED GRAVEYARD
  Robert Frost
  The living come with grassy tread To read the gravestones on the hill; The graveyard draws...

• Ode to a Nightingale
  John Keats
  I My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock...