Young England (Horace Smith Poems)
The times still "grow to something strange"; We rap and turn the tables;We fire our guns at awful range; We lay Atlantic ...
The times still "grow to something strange"; We rap and turn the tables;We fire our guns at awful range; We lay Atlantic ...
In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throwsThe only shadow that the Desart knows:—"I am ...
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