Lake Leman (Harold Monro Poems)
It is the sacred hour: above the far Low emerald hills that northward fold, Calmly, upon the blue the evening star Floats, wreathed ...
It is the sacred hour: above the far Low emerald hills that northward fold, Calmly, upon the blue the evening star Floats, wreathed ...
Here, in this other world, they come and go With easy dream-like movements to and fro. They stare through lovely eyes, yet ...
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