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 |