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/lit/ - Literature

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21619887 No.21619887 [Reply] [Original]

LAMENT VII
>Sad trinkets of my little daughter, dresses
>That touched her like caresses,
>Why do you draw my mournful eyes? To borrow
>A newer weight of sorrow?
>No longer will you clothe her form, to fold her
>Around, and wrap her, hold her.
>A hard, unwaking sleep has overpowered
>Her limbs, and now the flowered
>Cool muslin and the ribbon snoods are bootless,
>The gilded girdles fruitless.
>My little girl, 'twas to a bed far other
>That one day thy poor mother
>Had thought to lead thee, and this simple dower
>Suits not the bridal hour;
>A tiny shroud and gown of her own sewing
>She gives thee at thy going.
>Thy father brings a clod of earth, a somber
>Pillow for thy last slumber.
>And so a single casket, scant of measure,
>Locks thee and all thy treasure.
From the Laments (1580)

>> No.21619892

>cunny
Please don’t use this pedophilic language.

>> No.21619897

>>21619892
cunnies are for cuddles not fucking

>> No.21619920

LAMENT VIII
Thou hast made all the house an empty thing,
Dear Ursula, by this thy vanishing.
Though we are here, 'tis yet a vacant place,
One little soul had filled so great a space.
For thou didst sing thy joyousness to all,
Running through every nook of house and hall.
Thou wouldst not have thy mother grieve, nor let
Thy father with too solemn thinking fret
His head, but thou must kiss them, daughter mine,
And all with that entrancing laugh of thine!
Now on the house has fallen a dumb blight:
Thou wilt not come with archness and delight,
But every corner lodges lurking grief
And all in vain the heart would seek relief.

>> No.21619994
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21619994

>TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH.


INSTANTLY FECALIZED.

>> No.21620074

>>21619994
Nieszczesne ochędóstwo, żałosne ubiory
Mojej namilszej cory,
Po co me smutne oczy za sobą ciągniecie?
Żalu mi przydajecie.
Już ona członeczków swych wami nie odzieje,
Nie masz, nie masz nadzieje.
Ujął ją sen żelazny, twardy, nieprzespany.
Już letniczek pisany
I uploteczki wniwecz, i paski złocone -
Matczyne dary płone.
Nie do takiej łóżnice, moja dziewko droga,
Miała cię mać uboga
Doprowadzić, nie takąć dać obiecowała
Wyprawę, jakąć dała.
Giezłeczkoć tylko dała a lichą tkaneczkę,
Ociec ziemie bryłeczkę
W główki włożył. Niestetyż, i posag i ona
W jednej skrzynce zamkniona.

>> No.21620100
File: 664 KB, 372x456, KENNY ANNABELLE.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
21620100

>>21620074


EN ESPAÑOL, OU EM PORTUGUÊS, POR FAVOR.

>> No.21620111

sad