A song of birds adown a mine's dark galleries,
A scent of roses 'mid a waste of moor and fen,
A gush of sparkling waters from the desert sands,—
So comes the snow upon the town, an alien.
VI—_The Snow_
Ventures Into Verse Being various ballads, ballades, rondeaux, triolets, songs, quatrains, odes and roundels, all rescued from the potters' field of old files and here given decent burial · 第 40 / 51 题