 |
| Bøker | Bok |
|
| Bøker | Bok |
 BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on...  Rose-Belford's Canadian Monthly and National Review - Side 61 1882 Uten tilgangsbegrensning -
|
