Quotes37741 of 42758 |
||
|
Hark! hark! The lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Cloten, scene iii | ||
