They are very high White clouds heaven. Where there are deep lakes in the lake The gray river flows into the river.
--------------------------------- Mists are fading with dawns, I'm hovering over the feather grass. Give the fields with primroses A flash of white sorrow.
Gently-blooming distances Involve foreign lands, Only where would you fly, Draws his native land.
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With the first hope melted away In the heart of tired snow. Together with the furry flocks The banks will meet me.
The wind blows coldly Strannits native land. Where are you among them - I'm aukayu ... My white swan.