At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse... The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review - Стр. 10 редактор(ы): - 1817 Полный просмотр -
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