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* * * A GREENNESS o’er my vision passed, A freshness o’er my brain, Rose up as when I saw them last The glad green hills again. Amid the streets’ bewildering roar, I heard the rushing stirs Of vagrant breezes running o’er The dark tops of the firs. Far round, the wide and swooning view The bound of chainèd heights; Far off, the dales my footsteps knew, With all their green delights; Far down, the river winding through The valley, silver white; Far up, amid the cloudless blue, The slow sail of the kite. A greenness o’er my vision passed, A freshness o’er my brain, Rose up as when I saw them last The glad green hills again. Isa Knox's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1204 |
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