The Daft-days (Robert Fergusson Poems)
Now mirk December's dowie faceGlours our the rigs wi' sour grimace,While, thro' his minimum of space,The bleer-ey'd sunWi' blinkin light ...
Now mirk December's dowie faceGlours our the rigs wi' sour grimace,While, thro' his minimum of space,The bleer-ey'd sunWi' blinkin light ...
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