Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So doth my tights now hasten to their end
Though only aged five hundred years or more
They’re now past mine ability to mend.
O loss! their colour Continue reading
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So doth my tights now hasten to their end
Though only aged five hundred years or more
They’re now past mine ability to mend.
O loss! their colour Continue reading →