859
Too mortal for this frame,
That boded sky so lightly,
And busied once this winter tree
With all-present contention–
Now–pristine feather–
Is it warranted to say,
After this death, no other.
Advertisement
859
Too mortal for this frame,
That boded sky so lightly,
And busied once this winter tree
With all-present contention–
Now–pristine feather–
Is it warranted to say,
After this death, no other.
