The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
A Household Book of English Poetry - Էջ 55
Richard Chenevix Trench - 1870 - 438 էջ
Ամբողջությամբ դիտվող -