A Request
Mine, ‘till the flock of tern dither Their marching of the skies That stretch o’er lands that wither Until new land do rise. Upon stillest mid-day waters, Where throngs of fish defy The attempt of heron’s slaughter: I shall here […]
Mine, ‘till the flock of tern dither Their marching of the skies That stretch o’er lands that wither Until new land do rise. Upon stillest mid-day waters, Where throngs of fish defy The attempt of heron’s slaughter: I shall here […]