Proserpine and Midas
ΠΎΠΊΡ 2018. Β· BoD β Books on Demand
Π-ΠΊΡΠΈΠ³Π°
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Π‘ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡΠ°
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ΠΡΠΏΡΡΠ°Π²Π° ΡΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π΅
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Π ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΡ Π΅-ΠΊΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈ
The Hours have oped the palace of the dawn And through the Eastern gates of Heaven, Aurora Comes charioted on light, her wind-swift steeds, Winged with roseate clouds, strain up the steep. She loosely holds the reins, her golden hair, Its strings outspread by the sweet morning breeze, Blinds the pale stars. Our rural tasks begin; The young lambs bleat pent up within the fold, The herds low in their stalls, & the blithe cock Halloos most loudly to his distant mates. But who are these we see? these are not men, Divine of form & splendidly arrayed, They sit in solemn conclave. Is that Pan, Our Country God, surrounded by his Fauns? And who is he whose crown of gold & harp Are attributes of high Apollo?
ΠΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅ ΠΎΠ²Ρ Π΅-ΠΊΡΠΈΠ³Ρ
ΠΠ°Π²ΠΈΡΠ΅ Π½Π°ΠΌ ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΠ΅ ΠΌΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅.
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ΠΠ°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΠΈ ΡΠ°Π±Π»Π΅ΡΠΈ
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ΠΠ°ΠΏΡΠΎΠΏΠΎΠ²ΠΈ ΠΈ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ½Π°ΡΠΈ
ΠΠΎΠΆΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Π΄Π° ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅ Π°ΡΠ΄ΠΈΠΎ-ΠΊΡΠΈΠ³Π΅ ΠΊΡΠΏΡΠ΅Π½Π΅ Π½Π° Google Play-Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΡΡ Π²Π΅Π±-ΠΏΡΠ΅Π³Π»Π΅Π΄Π°ΡΠ° Π½Π° ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ½Π°ΡΡ.
Π-ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠΈ ΠΈ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈ ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠΈ
ΠΠ° Π±ΠΈΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠΈΡΠ°Π»ΠΈ Π½Π° ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΌΠ° ΠΊΠΎΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅ Π΅-ΠΌΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡ Kobo Π΅-ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠΈ, ΡΡΠ΅Π±Π° Π΄Π° ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΠ·ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΠ» ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π½Π΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Π³Π° Π½Π° ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ°Ρ. ΠΡΠ°ΡΠΈΡΠ΅ Π΄Π΅ΡΠ°ΡΠ½Π° ΡΠΏΡΡΡΡΠ²Π° ΠΈΠ· ΡΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠ° Π·Π° ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΡ Π΄Π° Π±ΠΈΡΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π½Π΅Π»ΠΈ ΡΠ°ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π΅ Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΆΠ°Π½Π΅ Π΅-ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅.
