Quotes 1 till 3 of 3.
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In spring's own country, where the gardens blow,
You faded, tender rose! For hours now past,
Like butterflies departing, on you're cast
The worms of memories to work you woe.Crimean Sonnets The Grave of the Countess Potocki -
Monsters merge and welter through the water's mounting
Din. All hands, stand fast! A sailor sprints aloft,
Hangs, swelling spider-like, among invisible nets,
Surveys his slowly undulating snares, and waits.Crimean Sonnets -
Sound as a burrow'd marmot he slept
On the straw where he'd tumbled fully-dressed that night.Pan Tadeusz
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