570 I could die—to know— `Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by— Morning`s bold face—stares in the window— Were but mine—the Charter of the least Fly— Houses hunch the House With their Brick Shoulders— Coals—from a Rolling Load—rattle—how—near— To the very Square—His foot is passing— Possibly, this moment— While I—dream—Here—SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
