This March morn seems a summer’s dawn, my dear,
‘Twixt heat and coolness mingled in the hall,
And dost thou recall when even worlds did fear,
Beneath the ruthless sweat, the duvet’s thrall?
Tetrameter Thirty-four
By
By
This March morn seems a summer’s dawn, my dear,
‘Twixt heat and coolness mingled in the hall,
And dost thou recall when even worlds did fear,
Beneath the ruthless sweat, the duvet’s thrall?
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