| 401 | 402 | 403 | 404 | 405 |
| 1 | 101 | 202 | 302 | 403 |
|
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the heart whose hope has died--
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,--
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant flowers of song!
403
Page
Quick Jump
|