If any duck in any brook, Fluttering the water For your crumb, Seemed the helpless daughter Of a mother Regretful that she bore her; Or of another, Barren, and longing for her; What of the dove, Or thrush, or any singing mysteries? What of the trees And intonations of the trees? What of the night That lights and dims the stars? Do you know, Hans Christian, Now that you see the night?SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.