There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies...
The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray LL.B., Late Professor of Modern Languages ... - Page 91
by Thomas Gray - 1799 - 186 pages
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