Анкета Οлега Εвсеева

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Far over The Misty Mountains cold, To dungeons deep And caverns old, The pines were roaring On the heights, The wind was moaning In the night, The fire was red, It flaming spread, The trees like torches Blazed with light. The bells were ringing in the dale And men looked up with faces pale; The dragon's ire more fierce than fire Laid low their towers and houses frail