And marked the mild, angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there, The fixed yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill, changeless... The Living Authors of America: 1st ser - Página 84 por Thomas Powell - 1850 - 365 páginas Vista completa -
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