#J13 Robert Seymour Bridges, poet

In Autumn Moonlight   In autumn moonlight, when the white air wanIs fragrant in the wake of summer hence,'Tis sweet to sit entranced, and muse thereonIn melancholy and godlike indolence:When the proud spirit, lull'd by mortal primeTo fond pretence of immortality.Vieweth all moments from the birth of time,All things whate'er have been or yet shall... Continue Reading →

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