Moogum The blooming willow trees breathe. She looked and lookedreturned her eyes amdrej the rocksand suddenly, she saw an immortal spirit — miracle! I shall tear open the heavy buckles of goldand a bunch of nice Raphaelian paintings is revealed in front of my eyes! Who would have thought that the god of love has spread also those silky hair all over the fields of beauty?
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But he was not like the evil spirit usually ishe had a power of something nice: But the inevitable law has chained him up to the dark and sad jail of fates with a mighty chain. I see the maiden in the window: How could a beautiful sight not be enchanted by the row of ivory bones underneath the lip?
Who would have thought that the god of love. You, yound Slovakia, my birthplace and also the barrow grave of my bones! So adorable are you, when your mighty emotion bursts into holy flameleading great-hearted strifes. And on her other cheek that envied. Her cheeks burning in angerangrily, heavily is she loading her crossbowher eyes are killing dreadfully!
Do not sing about praising the beauty, when you once start rushing towards it, Deny the highest need of your heart, and you and your world will turn into stone! Their sky-clear, close waters are playing with uniform glitter ; you stop at themfrom which to drink?
Needle, remain a pleasant memory of the sharp love that has hurt me ; chain, tie those sorrows of the throatyou, golden image of unity ; diamond, when the night enters the worldsyou shine instead of her eyes for me ; you, cold garnet, cool down those angersflaming against me in the breasts of beloved woman ; wristbands of gold, why would she put you downwhen she gave her freedom to a slave!
Why would a traitor need wings of freedom? We cannot help but sing! Do they perhaps envy the long ones that they see lying around the most beautiful surroundings of the body? T he bell of those echoes, not yet marrina makes an elephant out of a mosquitothe fifth echo of mighty voicesa beggar on the threshold of a sovereign!
As you, the Tatras, when upon mountains you cast wladkovic golden cloud: The time should have already judged, after the day, the match with the nightly clouds ; soothsayers screaming about the morning from their perches through their hundredfold throats: How sublime it spadkovic, calling beauty your mothervirtue, truth your sweet sister and calling the peace your brother!
I was born by the love of yours and beauty was breastfeeding me, ages have not moved me to betrayal. My world, my only treasure! But my whole world can be torn down by terrible shots of a single wordcoming out of your mouth: Crown of the maids, a flashing diamond! Do they perhaps envy the long ones that they see lying around. Andrwj face was praising andtej beingmy hand moved to open the book. Rip my image out of memorykill every motion of loveTear apart the flowers of my emotionscast them into the deepest forgettingyou may even cancel the pale shades of these hymns, dear!
To praise the Gospodin? And in these worlds, my soulthose are big who are small hereeternal peace without unrestsweetness that is not poisoned by sorrow ; there, gold does not outweigh beauty, there, weakness does not startle the heartthe venoms of envy die there ; in those worlds, with warm-hearted passionsworn in by eternal faithfulnessthe lovers cuddle to their beloved ones.
The blooming willow trees breathe the lovely scents of evening freshnesswindows so close are luring them inside into the loneliness of the beautiful maid ; there she stands, above the silent string, looking into the fair heavenly wallpapers through the white curtains on the window: There she appears in the eyes of Madonna. There she rages in the outpours of the sea. Have I given you the right? There, in front of the largest sacred tablewith her eye, flying to the heavenly polesthere kneels the enthused maid and on her forehead, rainbow of holiness — Is she praying?
Can the beauty of a star be begged by a weak murmur of earthly voice on the desert of the world? In every organ of the lovely living thousands of joys are flying. Most Related.
Andrej Sládkovič – Marína
But he was not like the evil spirit usually ishe had a power of something nice: But the inevitable law has chained him up to the dark and sad jail of fates with a mighty chain. I see the maiden in the window: How could a beautiful sight not be enchanted by the row of ivory bones underneath the lip? Who would have thought that the god of love. You, yound Slovakia, my birthplace and also the barrow grave of my bones! So adorable are you, when your mighty emotion bursts into holy flameleading great-hearted strifes.