Frances (Charlotte Bronte Poem)
SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams, But, rising, quits her restless bed, And walks where some beclouded beams ...
SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams, But, rising, quits her restless bed, And walks where some beclouded beams ...
WE take from life one little share, And say that this shall be A space, redeemed from toil and care, ...
THIS last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; And, though upon my bed of death, I call ...
I. THE GARDEN. ABOVE the city hung the moon, Right o'er a plot of ground Where flowers and orchard-trees were ...
SIT stilla worda breath may break (As light airs stir a sleeping lake,) The glassy calm that soothes my woes, ...
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