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Emily Brontë – The Night – Wind
In summer’s mellow midnight,
A cloudless moon shone through
Our open parlour window,
And rose-trees wet with dew.
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A Readmill of my mind
We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
A Readmill of my mind
We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
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