The Wayside Cross (John William Streets Poems)
Beneath a hawthorn bush, dying, he layUpon an orchard slope, a gentle hill;The silvery moonlight thro' the night did playUpon ...
Beneath a hawthorn bush, dying, he layUpon an orchard slope, a gentle hill;The silvery moonlight thro' the night did playUpon ...
You called to me from o'er the restless tide :Within the deepening shades of Death's confines,-Like winds grown free among ...
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