Tom Hiddleston read poetry
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16Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
Прослушайте мой последний выпуск и найдите еще больше отличного контента на моей канале!
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His voice is soothing، I'm in love with this man.
be gentle with yourself, you're a child of the universe🌌
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey nonny, nonny.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
Love is like the wild rose-briar, Friendship like the holly-tree— The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now And deck thee with the holly’s sheen, That when December blights thy brow He still may leave thy garland green.
I don’t know if you have had the same experience, but a thing I have found in life is that from time to time, as you jog along, there occur moments which you are able to recognize immediately with the naked eye as high spots. Something tells you that they are going to remain etched, if etched is the word I want, for ever on the memory and will come back to you at intervals down the years, as you are dropping off to sleep, banishing that drowsy feeling and causing you to leap on the pillow like a gaffed salmon. The Code of the Woosters, P. G. Wodehouse
'Which of these films was Dirk Bogarde not in? One hundredweight of bauxite makes how much aluminium? how many tales in 'The Decameron'?' General Studies, the upper sixth, a doddle, a cinch for anyone with an ounce of common sense or a calculator with a memory feature. Having galloped through but not caring enough to check or double-check, I was dreaming of milk-white breasts and nakedness, or more specifically virginity. That term - everybody felt the heat but the girls were having none of it: long and cool like cocktails, out of reach, their buns and pigtails only let out for older guys with studded jackets and motor-bikes and spare helmets. One jot of consolation was the tall spindly girl riding pillion on her man's new Honda who, with the lights at amber, put down both feet and stood to stretch her limbs, to lift the visor and push back her fringe and to smooth her tight jeans. As he pulled off down the street she stood there like a wishbone, high and dry, her legs wide open, and r
Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body, And with a sudden vigour doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine; And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd: Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd, No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head: O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou
fantastic
Spain frightened you. Spain. Where I felt at home. The blood-raw light, The oiled anchovy faces, the African Black edges to everything, frightened you. Your schooling had somehow neglected Spain. The wrought-iron grille, death and the Arab drum. You did not know the language, your soul was empty Of the signs, and the welding light Made your blood shrivel. Bosch Held out a spidery hand and you took it Timidly, a bobby-sox American. You saw right down to the Goya funeral grin And recognized it, and recoiled As your poems winced into chill, as your panic Clutched back towards college America. So we sat as tourists at the bullfight Watching bewildered bulls awkwardly butchered, Seeing the grey-faced matador, at the barrier Just below us, straightening his bent sword And vomiting with fear. And the horn That hid itself inside the blowfly belly Of the toppled picador punctured What was waiting for you. Spain Was the land of your dreams: the dust-red cadaver You dared not wake with, the pucke
literally thank you so much for sharing them❤❤❤
Thanks for your kindly collecting ❤. Every time I want to be relaxed，these sounds always help a lots.