 |
| Books | Bücher |
|
| Books | Bücher |
 But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the bald...  The Edinburgh Review: Or Critical Journal - Seite 114 1818 Vollansicht -
|
