Перевод поэтического произведения с языка на . what futile things are words! but dust of the desert of thought, blown willy-nilly; and he who would enslave them, marking indelibly the pith of his being upon the atoms,must first walk with bare feet the searing sand of day; and e’er he catch the dust of that magic desert,spill from his heart a little of its crimson fount, else tomorrow’s wind shall find but more dust,yea,more confusion!

2018kat    3   01.10.2019 06:00    0