Special education of the republic of uzbekistan

THOSE EVENING BELLS

Those evening bells! Those evening bells!

How many a tale their music tells,

Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,

When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are past away!

And many a heart that then was gay

Within the tomb now darkly dwells,

And hears no more those evening bells!

And so it will be when I’m gone;

That tuneful peal will still ring on,

While other bards shall walk these dells

And sing your praise sweet evening bells!

By Thomas Moore

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where,

For so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in it’s flight

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where,

For who has sight so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of a song?

Long, long afterwards in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroke

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

* * *
England! With all thy faults, I love thee still,

I assid at Calais, and have not forgot it.

I like the taxes when they’re not too many;

I like a sea-coal fire, when not too dear;

I like a beef-steak, too, as well as any;

Have no objection, to a pot of beer;

I like the weather when it is not rainy,

That is, I like two months of every year.

By George Byron
WOODS IN WINTER
Whose woods these are. I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.