A Shropshire Lad by A. E. Housman
page 43 of 67 (64%)
page 43 of 67 (64%)
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Undone with misery, all they can
Is to hate their fellow man; And till they drop they needs must still Look at you and wish you ill. XLII THE MERRY GUIDE Once in the wind of morning I ranged the thymy wold; The world-wide air was azure And all the brooks ran gold. There through the dews beside me Behold a youth that trod, With feathered cap on forehead, And poised a golden rod. With mien to match the morning And gay delightful guise And friendly brows and laughter He looked me in the eyes. Oh whence, I asked, and whither? He smiled and would not say, And looked at me and beckoned And laughed and led the way. |
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