Читать книгу Sad Cypress - Агата Кристи, Agatha Christie, Detection Club The - Страница 5

Come away, come away, death,

And in sad cypress let me be laid;

Fly away, fly away, breath;

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew

O prepare it;

My part of death no one so true;

Did share it.

Shakespeare.