Who is Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet (Russian: Афана́сий Афана́сьевич Фет, IPA: [ɐfɐˈnasʲɪj ɐfɐˈnasʲjɪvʲɪtɕ ˈfʲɛt] (listen)), later known as Shenshin (Russian: Шенши́н, IPA: [ʂɨnˈʂɨn] (listen)); 5 December [O.S. 23 November] 1820 – 3 December [O.S. 21 November] 1892), was a r...
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Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet Poems

  • I Have Come To You Delighted
    I have come to you, delighted,
    To tell you that sun has risen,
    That its light has warmly started
    To fulfil on leaves its dancing; ...
  • My Face Turned Upwards To The Sky
    My face turned upwards to the sky
    One summer night I lay upon some hay
    A lively close-knit starry chorus
    Was flickering all around. ...
  • Nightingales, A Sigh, A Whisper
    Nightingales, a sigh, a whisper
    In a shady nook
    And the lullaby in silver
    Of a lazy brook. ...
  • Never
    I wake. Yes, it's a coffin lid.-With effort
    I reach my hands out and I call
    For help. Yes, I recall the tortures
    Of dying.-Yes, this is no dream!- ...
  • With One Firm Thrust
    With one firm thrust to force the boat of living
    From off the sands, and, by a wave tossed high,
    Be toward a new life borne, a new beginning,
    To feel the wind from scented shores sweep nigh, ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet

Heart 7 Night 5 Dream 5 Breath 4 Face 4 Sky 4 Earth 4 Soul 3 Light 3 Life 3

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet Quotes

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Comments about Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet

  • Obituary_bot: afanasy fet, 72 (russian author and poet) 1820—1892 afanasy afanasyevich fet), later known as shenshin; 5 december  1820 – 3 december  1892), was a renowned russian poet regarded as the finest master of lyric verse in russian literature rip
  • Michelleassor: quote from the poem, 'what grief the alley's end', by afanasy afanasyevich fet (regarded as the greatest russian lyric poet). what grief! the alley's end is lost in snow again today, and once again, the silver snakes are crawling through the snow.
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Poem of the day

William Cowper Poem
Denner's Old Woman
 by William Cowper

In this mimic form of a matron in years,
How plainly the pencil of Denner appears!
The matron herself, in whose old age we see
Not a trace of decline, what a wonder is she!
No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging low,
No wrinkle, or deep-furrow-d frown on the brow!
Her forehead indeed is here circled around
With locks like the ribbon with which they are bound;

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