“ Where small-paned windows glow At twilight on a bit of field That chance has left below. My Providence! What airy hosts Turn still thy gilded vanes; What winds of elf that with grey ghosts People thine ancient lanes! ”
“ Where small-paned windows glow At twilight on a bit of field That chance has left below. My Providence! What airy hosts Turn still thy gilded vanes; What winds of elf that with grey ghosts People thine ancient lanes! ”
