118 lines
4.3 KiB
HTML
118 lines
4.3 KiB
HTML
<!doctype html>
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<html>
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<head>
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<title>Zk | [no subject]</title>
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<link rel="stylesheet" href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Gentium+Plus&family=Lato&family=Ubuntu+Monodisplay=swap" />
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</head>
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<body>
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<main>
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<header>
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<h1>Zk | [no subject]</h1>
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</header>
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<article class="content">
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<p><span class="tag">diary</span> <span class="tag">livejournal</span> <span class="tag">fossils</span></p>
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<details text="Mé Éva"><summary>Mé Éva</summary><strong>Mé Éva</strong>
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Mé Éva, ben Ádaim uill;
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mé ro sáraig Ísu thall;
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mé ro thall nem ar mo chloinn;
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cóir is mé do-chóid sa crann.
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Ropa lem rítheg dom réir;
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olc in míthoga rom-thár;
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olc in cosc cinad rom-chrín;
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for-ír! ní hidan mo lám.
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Mé tuc in n-uball an-úas;
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do-chúaid t ar cumang mo chraís;
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in céin marat-sam re lá;
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de ní scarat mná re baís.
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Ní bíad eigredd in cach dú;
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ní bíad geimred gáethmar glé;
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ní baíd iffern; ní bíad brón;
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ní bíad oman; minbad mé.
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</details>
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<p><lj-cut text="Slay Me Suddenly"><strong>Slay Me Suddenly</strong>
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Your yen two wol slee me sodenly;
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I may the beautee of hem not sustene,
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So woundeth hit throughout my herte kene.</p>
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<p>And but your word wol helen hastily
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My hertes wounde, while that hit is grene,</p>
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<p>Your yen two wol slee me sodenly;
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I may the beautee of hem not sustene.</p>
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<p>Upon my trouthe I sey you feithfully
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That ye ben of my lyf and deeth the quene;
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For with my deeth the trouthe shal be sene.</p>
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<p>So hath your beautee fro your herte chaced
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Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
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For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
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Giltles my deeth thus han ye me purchaced;
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I sey you sooth, me nedeth not to feyne;</p>
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<p>So hath your beautee fro your herte chaced
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Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne.
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Allas! that Nature hath in you compassed
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So greet beautee, that no man may atteyne
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To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne.</lj-cut>
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<lj-cut text="Razreesh"><strong>Razreesh (translated)</strong>
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Cut me like a fruit
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In the still of your room.
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I will gladly be your slave
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Until you tell me to go away </p>
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<p><em>(Cut me in half like a peach, apple, or pear,
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Eat me for breakfast
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And spit out my little bones)</em></p>
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<p>I will grow through your floor in a shape of a tree
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And will be with you everyday.
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Until you cut me down
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Until you get bored someday.</lj-cut>
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<lj-cut text="The Sour Grove">For Alk. Be warned, it’s dirty ^^
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<strong>The Sour Grove</strong>
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Sawden awdl, sidan ydiw
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sem fach, len ar gont wen wiw
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lleiniau mewn man ymannerch,
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y llwyn sur, llawn yw o serch,
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fforest falch iawn, ddawn ddifrog
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ffris ffraill, ffwrwr dwygaill deg
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breisglwyn merch, drud annerch dro,
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berth addwyn, Duw’n borth iddo.</lj-cut>
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<lj-cut text="Truth"><strong>Truth</strong>
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Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothefastnesse,
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Suffise thin owen thing, thei it be smal;
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For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tykelnesse,
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Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal.
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Savour no more thanne the byhove schal;
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Reule weel thiself, that other folk canst reede;
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And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede.</p>
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<p>Tempest the nought al croked to redresse,
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In trust of hire that tourneth as a bal.
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Myche wele stant in litel besynesse;
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Bywar therfore to spurne ayeyns an al;
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Stryve not as doth the crokke with the wal.
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Daunte thiself, that dauntest otheres dede;
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And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede.</p>
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<p>That the is sent, receyve in buxumnesse;
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The wrestlyng for the worlde axeth a fal.
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Here is non home, here nys but wyldernesse.
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Forth, pylgryme, forth! forth, beste, out of thi stal!
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Know thi contré! loke up! thonk God of al!
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Hold the heye weye, and lat thi gost the lede;
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And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede. </lj-cut</p>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2004-07-11 18:10:58</p>
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