The Moon (William Henry Davies Poem)
Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul, Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright; Thy beauty makes me like ...
Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul, Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright; Thy beauty makes me like ...
And now, when merry winds do blow, And rain makes trees look fresh, An overpowering staleness holds This mortal flesh. ...
Sing out, my soul, thy songs of joy; Sing as a happy bird will sing Beneath a rainbow's lovely arch ...
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