Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:-
ممكن تعطوني سوالين يتعلقوابالابيات مع الاجوبة كلمة ورد غطاها يعني باختصار The paths of glory lead but to the grave
رفيف العيوف @rfyf_alaayof
عضوة جديدة
يلزم عليك تسجيل الدخول أولًا لكتابة تعليق.
خليك أول من تشارك برأيها 💁🏻♀️