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. , , V. 0-3V 0-4, .. 03, 0 4. .

 

1. C VC great/grow send/sit

2. C V C great/fail send/bell

3. C V C great/meat send/hand

4. C VC great/grazed send/sell

5. C V C great/groat send/sound

6. C VC great/bait send/end2

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: , , , .

() . , , . ( . ).

, , . .. , , . : , ..., : , , , 1. , , , , , : sl, s , f l , s t, nd.

 

His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling, faintly through universe and faintly falling like the descent of their last end, upon the living and the dead.

(J.Joyce)

 

: ( , , , , ); , .. ; , ; ; , .

. Flowery Tuscany.

 

But in the morning it is quite different. Then the sun shines strong on the horizontal green cloud-puffs of the pines, the sky is clear and full of life, the water runs hastily, still browned by the last juice of crushed olives. And there the earth's bowl of crocuses is amazing. You cannot believe that the flowers are really still. They are open with such delight, and their pistilthrust is so red-orange, and they are so many, all reaching out wide and marvellous, that it suggests a perfect ecstasy of radiant, thronging movement, lit-up violet and orange, and surging in some invisible rhythm of concerted delightful movement. You cannot believe they do not move, and make some sort of crystalline sound of delight. If you sit still and watch, you begin to move with them, like moving with the stars, and you feel the sound of their radiance. All the little cells of the flowers must be leaping with flowery life and utterance.

 

, , , . [i], [i:], [ai] [i] , - , .

, . . , , . .

. [d], , , , , . , , , .

 

DESIGN

 

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,

On a white heal-all, holding up a moth

Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth

Assorted characters of death and blight

Mixed ready to begin the morning right,

Like the ingredients of a witches' broth

A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,

And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,

The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?

What brought the kindred spider to that height,

Then steered the white moth thither in the night?

What but design of darkness to appal?

If design govern in a thing so small.

(R. Frost)

, [d] [t]. , . [ait]. , death and blight design, , , . heal-all, , , , . , , . Design.

, .. , , , .

, .. , , , , - , , , ..: bubble , splash , rustle , buzz v , purr v , flop n , babble , giggle , whistle n ..

, , , . ' : , : where white horses and black horses and brown horses and white and black horses and brown and white horses trotted tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tappety-tap over cobble stones...

. Boots slog, , , foot boots, :

 

We're foot slog slog slog sloggin' over Africa

Foot foot foot foot sloggin' over Africa.

(Boots boots boots boots movin'up and down again!)

 

, . The Bells.

, , .

. : Nothing so exciting, so scandalous, so savouring of the black arts had startled Aberlaw since Trevor Day, the solicitor was suspected of killing his wife with arsenic.

, .. .

. , , , raven never.

. , , , . . . , raven never , , . . , . , . :

 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting.

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the fl oor;

And my sou l from out this shadow that lies fl oating on the fl oor

Sha ll be l i ft ed nevermore.

 

. , . , , 1, t, i poultry politics, , .

 

But still he strummed on, and his mind wandered in and out of poultry and politics. Old Forsyte, Fleur, Foggartism and the Ferrar girl like a man in a maelstrom whirling round with his head just above water.

 

[f] , , , . , . 1.

 

: Doom is dark and deeper than any sea dingle (W. Auden). : Apt Alliteration's artful aid (Ch. Churchill).

, . , , . . , . . .. , .. , , , ; , .. , , 1. , . , . .. 2.

, .. , , (), ( ).

, , , (IX .). .. , , , , .

, , :

 

Ne maeg baer ren ne snaw,

ne forstes fnaest, ne fyres blaest,

ne haegles hryre, ne hrimes dryre,

ne sunnan haetu, ne sincaldu,

ne wearm weder, ne winter-scur

wihte gewyrdan; ac se wong seomaD

eadig and ansund. Is baetaebele lond

blostmum geblowen.

 

, . , . , , Seafarer Wanderer:

... Our long convoy

Turned away northward as tireless gulls

Wove over water webs of brightness.

And sad sound. The insensible ocean.

Miles without mind, moaned all around our

Limited laughter, and below our songs

Were deaf deeps, dens of unaffection...

(W. Auden)

 

. 1, cynghanedd : Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood (w h h w). Fern Hill:

 

Above the lilting house and happy as the grass was green...

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves...

And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman...

 

, . . . , The Age of Anxiety, - . :

 

We would rather be ruined than changed

We would rather die in our dread

Than climb the cross of the moment

And let our illusions die.

, , .

, , . :

 

...Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within the distant Aiden,

I shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?

 

radiant maiden, - . ; [ei]. , , . nevermore .

 

, , , .

, , : , , , , .

.. 1. : 2.

, , , , , .

.. , , , ՗ . , , , . XIV .

, , . , , , .

, . , 1. . , , , , , , , , . () .

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. , , .. , , , (), () .

. (, bb), (ab, ab) (ab, b). , , , . ( ), ( ) ( ). , , .

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. :

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is

tabooed by anxiety,

I conceive you may use any language you chose to indulge in

without impropriety.

 

, . , . .

, , , :

 

Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,

If you listen to popular rumour;

From the morn to the night, he's so joyous and bright,

And he bubbles with wit and good humour!

 

(W.S. Gilbert. The Yeoman of the Guard)

, , , . , . - , . , , , .

. , 1938 , . , .

 

THE SUNLIGNT ON THE GARDEN

 

The sunlight on the garden

Hardens and grows cold,

We cannot cage the minute

Within its nets of gold,

When all is told

We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances

Advances towards its end;

The earth compels, upon it

Sonnets and bids descend;

And soon, my friend,

We shall have no time for dances.

 

The sky was good for flying

Defying the church bells

And every evil iron

iren and what it tells:

The earth compels,

We are dying, Egypt dying.

And not expecting pardon,

Hardened in heart anew,

But glad to have sat under

Thunder and rain with you,

And grateful too

For sunlight on the garden.

 

30- , . . . abcbba. garden pardon , . , : garden hardens, upon it sonnets.

. Elegy on Spain.

 

Evil lifts a hand and the heads of flowers fall

The pall of the hero who by the Ebro bleeding





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