"If itWere lighter touchThan petal of flower restingOn grass, oh still too heavy it were,Too heavy!
Oh Lady, let the sad tears fall To speak thy pain, Gently as through the silver dusk The silver rain. Oh, let thy bosom breathe its grief In such soft sigh As hath the wind in gardens where Pale roses die.
Photo by Ákos Szabó
Photo by Ian Turnell
Oh Lady, let the sad tears fall To speak thy pain, Gently as through the silver dusk The silver rain...
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