English poem
The Wingéd Cloak
by Louise Morey Bowman (1882–1944)
I draw my cloak about me ... Tattered and gray To others it may be. It seems to me Of golden hue, Broidered with mystic blue, Woven each dawn anew, And light as dew-ringed cobweb On the grass. Unscathed and joyously In it I pass Through drenching torrent, wind, Fierce pitiless sun, Till day is done.
Dream Tapestries
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