Song
de Samuel Taylor Coleridge(2005)
1 min lectură
Mediu
Tho\' veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath,
And thro\' the clefts, itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the Blade !
But thro\' the clefts, itself has made,
We likewise see Love\'s flashing blade,
By rust consumed or snapt in twain :
And only Hilt and Stump remain.