The Fiddling Wood (Stephen Vincent Benet Poem)
Gods, what a black, fierce day! The clouds were iron, Wrenched to strange, rugged shapes; the red sun winked Over ...
Gods, what a black, fierce day! The clouds were iron, Wrenched to strange, rugged shapes; the red sun winked Over ...
"Oh yes, I went over to Edmonstoun the other day and saw Johnny, mooning around as usual! He will never ...
I am a shell. From me you shall not hear The splendid tramplings of insistent drums, The orbed gold of ...
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