Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-moon is on her throne, Clustered...
Recollections of a Literary Life - Página 318
de Mary Russell Mitford - 1855 - 558 páginas
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