Twas but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet in Lydian measures, Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; Honour but an empty bubble...
Poems by Cowley, Waller, Butler, Denham, Dryden, and Pomfret - Страница 26
по Abraham Cowley - 1810 - 220 страници
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