AUSTRALIA | Monday, 10 June 2013 | Views [221] | Comments [1]
A hope, that prudence could not then approve, That clung to Nature with a truant's love, O'er Gallia's wastes of corn my footsteps led; Her files of road-elms, high above my head In long-drawn vista, rustling in the breeze; Or where her pathways straggle as they please By lonely farms and secret villages. But lo! the Alps ascending white in air, Toy with the sun and glitter from afar.
William Wordsworth Jul 26, 2013 7:42 AM
