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Robin's Space |
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The Ruin
When the last colours of the day
Have from their burning ebbed away, About that ruin, cold and lone, The cricket shrills from stone to stone; And scattering o'er its darkened green, Bands of fairies may be seen, Clattering like grasshoppers, their feet Dancing a thistledown dance round it: While the great gold of the mild moon Tinges their tiny acorn shoon.
~Walter De la Mare
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20-Oct-2003 |
Contact: webmaster@kniskern.com |
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