The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. His steps are not upon thy...
THE EDINBURGH REVIEW OF CRITICAL JOURNAL - Página 115
de DAVID WILLISON - 1818
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