AUSTRALIA | Monday, 10 June 2013 | Views [257] | Comments [1]
And now, emerging from the forest's gloom, I greet thee, Chartreuse, while I mourn thy doom. Whither is fled that Power whose frown severe Awed sober Reason till she crouched in fear? That Silence, once in deathlike fetters bound, Chains that were loosened only by the sound Of holy rites chanted in measured round?
William Wordsworth Jul 26, 2013 7:44 AM
