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Bir çeviri sorunu bildirin
Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be;
They are but broken lights of thee.
-- Tennyson
Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone. Still round the corner there may wait
Tree and flower and leaf and grass, A new road or a secret gate,
Let them pass! Let t
👔 -- 🎄 -- 👑 -- 🌸 -- 🔋 -- 😺 -- 🐳 -- 📘 -- 💛 -- 📕 -- 🌳 -- 🏀 -- 📀 -- ⛳ -- 🎽
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOWNT4b058I