Devils (Alexander Pushkin Poems)
Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover; Flying snow is set alight By the moon whose form they cover; Blurred the heavens, blurred ...
Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover; Flying snow is set alight By the moon whose form they cover; Blurred the heavens, blurred ...
What is my name to you? 'T will die: a wave that has but rolled to reach with a lone ...
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