Serenade - Poem by William Griffith
The Moon puts on her silver veil
And shawl of lace: and with far lutes
And violins in many a dale
The thrushes blow their woodland flutes.
Oh, and with many a ghostly cheer,
Under the moon the forest heaves
And sways with ecstasy to hear
The eery laughter of the leaves.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You