The world is tired, the year is old. The faded leaves are glad to die.
Beneath the apple blossoms, I go a wintry way, for love that smiled in April is false to me in May.
Beeldspreuken
The world is tired, the year is old. The faded leaves are glad to die.
Beneath the apple blossoms, I go a wintry way, for love that smiled in April is false to me in May.