Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages онлайн
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Wrinkling up his little face,
As he cries again for aid;
And I cannot find the place!
And I cannot find the place
Where his paw is in the snare:
Little one! Oh, little one!
I am searching everywhere.
James Stephens
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THE MONK AND HIS PET CAT
I and my white Pangur
Have each his special art:
His mind is set on hunting mice,
Mine is upon my special craft.
I love to rest—better than any fame!—
With close study at my little book;
White Pangur does not envy me:
He loves his childish play.
When in our house we two are all alone—
A tale without tedium!
We have—sport never-ending!
Something to exercise our wit.
At times by feats of derring-do
A mouse sticks in his net,
While into my net there drops
A difficult problem of hard meaning.
He points his full shining eye
Against the fence of the wall:
I point my clear though feeble eye
Against the keenness of science.
He rejoices with quick leaps
When in his sharp claw sticks a mouse:
I too rejoice when I have grasped
A problem difficult and dearly loved.