Lack-a-day!But not a single thing seem'd good,The beds were bad, and strange the food,And I not understood.
For we fear that his caprices,
"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!Full many a game I will play there with thee;On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."
Unto a holier, purer, unknown BeingIts grateful aspiration to devote,
《王者国际版Arena of valor》
Fair in form, with painted face,--
The triumph He for us acquired.He cometh, Hell to extirpate,
The tapers around her are flaming;She speaks to the page: "With a nimble pace
My peace is o'er;I find it never