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famous poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
eu tenho que dizer good-night
splendor doce
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
há uma hora do descanso calmo
eu sou uma mulher
eu amo roubar por algum tempo afastado
talvez
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy

 



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