Trực tiếp bóng đá hn gặp hagl

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datatime: 2022-12-06 19:48:09 Author:EErmLeHK

The grasses one vast underhum.

Desire of times unripe, we have these two,

vitalised Britain,

Play spectre upon eye and mouth:

Make man, behold, nor count the low the least,

The phantom of the snowwreath melt,

crown is Apollo's,

Sprung of the father blood, the mother brain,

But now the common life has come,

Nor less the stars have round it than its flowers.

The heavens are out in fleeces,

But now the North wind ceases,

Not the less is he nerved with the Labourer's resolute hope:that

The river that reflective flows:

While stands he yet in his grime and sweatto wrestle for fruits of

Sprung of the father blood, the mother brain,

The phantom of the snowwreath melt,

The heavens are out in fleeces,

This magic of the whirl for South.

To see Life's formless offspring and subdue

For iron Winter held her firm;

As though they caught a broken clue;

Future in trust.

Nor less the stars have round it than its flowers.

Breaks to the scene of hosts afoot,

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