Longing When it shatters the dawn into Jingling white threads, And its magic bazaar runs From the high zenith, its jealous Verses, I bequeath roll up the greenish Petals of the flowers, dressing them In florid scrawls; And I forget find nothing, but on its Silken lips the tenderness of my life. When the poorly(p) jump-start breaks the chains Of its pallid grotto and the skeletal Trees waggle in the laughter of their Euphoria, recovering their multi-colored Flowering, the fields will be grace Then in their starched white ornaments. And I . . . and I . . .
And I will repair the adulterated Poems of the broken fans of time, In the resplendent slimness of its sighs, That sleep beneath my poor and imperfect verses. Bibliography: ...If you ask to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com
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