Title: Необов'язково

Text: Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. Кожен абзац буде тестом.

Save test: Використовуйте це, якщо ви хочете поділитися цим тестом на друкування (тільки для автентифікованих користувачів).