It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
Thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories