"On the shining yards of heavenSee a wider dawn unfurled. . . . The eternal slaves of beautyAre the masters of the world.
THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood— Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.
Photo by Ákos Szabó
Photo by Ian Turnell
THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood— Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my...
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