Go, thought, on the golden wings.
Go, put you on the clivi, on the coll,
where they oil tepid and soft
the sweet natures of natal soil!
From the Jordan the shores greet,
of Sionne the towers landed.
O my homeland, so beautiful and lost!
O memoir yes dear and fatal!
Harp d'or of the fateful vati,
why does it change from the willow slopes?
Chest memories rekindle,
it favors us of the time that was!
Or similar of Solima to the fates,
I hear a sound of raw lament;
or let the Lord inspire you a concentation
that infuses it to suffer virtue
that infuses it to suffer virtue
to suffer virtue!
Only among all we can make this a better place :)