English poem
X
by Thomas Hardy
The watches of the night grow hoar, He rises ere the sun; “Now could I kill thee here!” he says, “For winning me from one Who ever in her living days Was pure as cloistered nun!”
English poem
by Thomas Hardy
The watches of the night grow hoar, He rises ere the sun; “Now could I kill thee here!” he says, “For winning me from one Who ever in her living days Was pure as cloistered nun!”