The tangled bine-stems scored the sky. Like strings of broken lyres,. And all mankind that haunted nigh. Had sought their household fires. |
Hereto I come to interview a ghost; Whither, O whither will its whim now draw me? Up the cliff, down, till I'm lonely, lost, |
Novbeti > |
Axtarisha Qayit Anarim.Az Anarim.Az Sayt Rehberliyi ile Elaqe Saytdan Istifade Qaydalari Anarim.Az 2004-2023 |