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.
4 / 7 / 11
"Sweet I cannot be from you: ffor all my sense are on you:
And what I thinke it is of you:
That which I seeke it is in you:
All that I doe shall be for you:
Thus all that I am it is you:"
