Song 2 (Anne Bronte Poem)
Come to the banquet -- triumph in your songs! Strike up the chords -- and sing of Victory! The oppressed ...
Come to the banquet -- triumph in your songs! Strike up the chords -- and sing of Victory! The oppressed ...
That wind is from the North, I know it well; No other breeze could have so wild a swell. Now ...
I'm buried now; I've done with life; I've done with hate, revenge and strife; I've done with joy, and hope ...
A prisoner in a dungeon deep Sat musing silently; His head was rested on his hand, His elbow on his ...
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