介绍金利彩票投进去的钱安全吗

Ah! upon thy bosomLay I, pining,And then thy flowers, thy grass,Were pressing against my heart.Thou coolest the burningThirst of my bosom,Beauteous morning breeze!The nightingale then calls meSweetly from out of the misty vale.I come, I come!Whither? Ah, whither?

Thou smilest, friend, with fitting thoughts inspired;By a dread parting was thy fame acquired,Thy mournful destiny we sorrow'd o'er,For weal and woe thou left'st us evermore,And then again the passions' wavering forceDrew us along in labyrinthine course;And we, consumed by constant misery,At length must part--and parting is to die!How moving is it, when the minstrel sings,To 'scape the death that separation brings!Oh grant, some god, to one who suffers so,To tell, half-guilty, his sad tale of woe