Memory
Lo, the Blossom to the Bee
Yields not more than thou to me —
Food for Love to live upon
When the summer days are gone,
Poorer than they came, to find
What was sweetest, left behind.
Yields not more than thou to me —
Food for Love to live upon
When the summer days are gone,
Poorer than they came, to find
What was sweetest, left behind.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.