... there ever any
Writhed not at passèd joy?
To know the change and feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbèd sense to steal it,
Was never said in rhyme.
John Keats - Stancák
December éje zordon,
de boldog vagy, te fa,
mert egy ágad se gondol
szép zöld lombjaira:
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