The Quaker Widow (James Bayard Taylor Poems)
THEE finds me in the garden, Hannah,-come in! 'T is kind of theeTo wait until the Friends were gone, who ...
THEE finds me in the garden, Hannah,-come in! 'T is kind of theeTo wait until the Friends were gone, who ...
THE wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire; The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of Tyre, ...
Not as in youth, with steps outspeeding morn, And cheeks all bright from rapture of the way, But in strange mood, half ...
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