Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

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A floating, a
Across the sleeping sea,
All night I heard a singing
Upon the topmost tree
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There stood a low and ivied roof,
As gazing rustics tell,
In times of chivalry and song'Yclept the holy well
Above the ivies' branchlets
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And should she die, her grave should
Upon the bare top of a sunny hill,
Among the moorlands of her own fair land,
Amid a ring of old and moss-grown
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Oh, forth she went like a braw, braw
To meet her winsome groom,
When she was aware of twa bonny
Sat biggin' in the broom
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See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows
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Over the
Drank I with heroes,
Under the Donau bank,
Warm in the snow trench:
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I would have loved: there are no mates in heaven;
I would be great: there is no pride in heaven;
I would have sung, as doth the
The summer's night beneath the moone pale,
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