Elena took a deep breath and started running down the hill. However, the گھاس on the ہل, لندن started growing really fast and pushed Elena back. Elena angry pushed the گھاس away and came halfway the hill.
Then the earth started shaking and Elena rolled down.
The road that led to the open field cracked open and Elena’s feet got stuck in one of the cracks.
“Ha, fuck it!” she cursed and she pulled her leg, but she couldn’t اقدام it. The crack grew bigger and soon she fell in a whole. A deep one.
She looked up and saw how the crack slowly closed again.
“Elena”
Elena grabbed the دیوار which was raw and cut her hands open, but she didn’t care. With a fierce determination she climbed up and out of the crack. She crawled away from the crack, dodged the cracks and reached the open field.
Then the earth started shaking and Elena rolled down.
The road that led to the open field cracked open and Elena’s feet got stuck in one of the cracks.
“Ha, fuck it!” she cursed and she pulled her leg, but she couldn’t اقدام it. The crack grew bigger and soon she fell in a whole. A deep one.
She looked up and saw how the crack slowly closed again.
“Elena”
Elena grabbed the دیوار which was raw and cut her hands open, but she didn’t care. With a fierce determination she climbed up and out of the crack. She crawled away from the crack, dodged the cracks and reached the open field.
Nina Dobrev
Title: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles سے طرف کی Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles سے طرف کی Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
