THE WIND
Reading edition
Like the cry of one in sorrow, Hark, the wind is calling O’er the dark forest fringe, Where the pale starlight’s falling: “Sweet, I loved thee,”—hear it say; “And now thou’rt gone,”—’tis wailing.
Reading edition
Like the cry of one in sorrow, Hark, the wind is calling O’er the dark forest fringe, Where the pale starlight’s falling: “Sweet, I loved thee,”—hear it say; “And now thou’rt gone,”—’tis wailing.