Poem by Thomas Malory
Of Lancelot du Lake
tell i no more
But this by leave
these ermytes seven.
But still Kynge Arthur
lieth there, and Quene Guenever,
As I you newyn.
And Monkes
That are right of lore
Who synge with moulded stewyn
Ihesu, who hath woundes sore,
Grant us the blyss of Heaven.
1 | Аквариум - Город Золотой (Асса) |
2 | Город золотой |
3 | Северный цвет |
4 | Cтаканы |
5 | Древнерусская Тоска |
6 | Маша и Медведь |
7 | Трамонтана |
8 | Поезд в огне |
9 | Брод |
10 | Не пей вина, Гертруда |