A person standing in a field under a large cloud
Some things that can only be whispered here.
Storm has set the heavens scowling, Whirling gusty blizzards wild, Now they are like beasts a-growling, Now a-wailing like a child. Now along the brittle thatches They will scud with rustling sound, Now against the window latches Like belated wanderers pound.
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Storm has set the heavens scowling, Whirling gusty blizzards wild, Now they are like beasts a-growling, Now a-wailing like a child. Now along the brittle thatches They will scud with rustling sound, Now against the window latches Like belated wanderers pound.
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