Bubble, bubble, flows the streamLike an old tune through a dream. Toggle format menu With Attribution Quote Only Plain Text With Bio
She throws a kiss, and bids me runIn whispers sweet as roses’ breath;I know I can not win the race,And at the end, I know, is death. Toggle format menu With Attribution Quote Only Plain Text With Bio
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When Spring is old, and dewy windsBlow from the south, with odors sweet,I see my love, in shadowy groves,Speed down dark aisles on shining feet. Toggle format menu With Attribution Quote Only Plain Text With Bio