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The Eve Of St. Agnes

Rating: 3.1

ST Agnes' Eve---Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.

His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
David 29 September 2018

It's iconic - but should read By one, and one, the bolts full* easy slideas they escape into the storm

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David 29 September 2018

It's iconic- but it's By one, and one, the bolts full* easy slide- as they escape into the storm

0 0 Reply