Sadder than lark when lowering Clouds defend the sky; Sadder than wild swan pouring Death—notes ere it die; Sadder than winds imploring Shelter when storms are high,— Couldst thou be less than adoring, More sad were I. Happy as streamlet flowing `Twixt banks of heathery peat; Happy as murmur going Through the inclining wheat; Happy as mother glowing Over her little one`s feet,— I am happy in knowing, Thou`rt mine, my sweet!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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