This is a fine day. It looks some like rain this morning. 1868.
I was down to Brushland this forenoon. It is warm to day. It rained some to night. I was into the Cooper-Shop to day and also into D.L. Thomsons Store to day. 1868.
I cannot make him know my love;
Nor from myself conceal
The pangs that rankle in my breast
Sharper than flame or steal (sic).
Could I but reach a hand to him
My very fingers thrill
Would close round the strength,
Of his beloved will.
I was down to Brushland this forenoon. It is warm to day. It rained some to night. I was into the Cooper-Shop to day and also into D.L. Thomsons Store to day. 1868.
I cannot make him know my love;
Nor from myself conceal
The pangs that rankle in my breast
Sharper than flame or steal (sic).
Could I but reach a hand to him
My very fingers thrill
Would close round the strength,
Of his beloved will.
No comments:
Post a Comment