Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew. In quiet she reposes: Ah! Would that I did too
Her mirth the world required: She bathed it in smiles of glee. But her heart was tired, tired, And now they let her be.
Her life was turning, turning, In mazes of heat and sound. But for peace her soul was yearning, And now peace laps her round
Her cabin'd, ample Spirit, It flutter'd and fail'd for breath. To-night it doth inherit The vasty hall of Death. Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |