Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
калинка моя!
Ἄκουε τὰ ἀπὸ καρδίας.
11 / 11 / 11
"With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a lightfoot lad.
By brooks too broad for leaping
The lightfoot boys are laid;
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
In fields where roses fade." - A. E. Housman
