Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson...
Great Authors of All Ages: Being Selections from the Prose Works of Eminent ... - Página 500
de Samuel Austin Allibone - 1879 - 555 páginas
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