Methinks my tenderness the grass must be
Methinks my tenderness the grass must be,
Clothing some mountain desolate and lone;
For though it daily grows luxuriantly,
To ev'ry mortal eye 'tis still unknown.
Clothing some mountain desolate and lone;
For though it daily grows luxuriantly,
To ev'ry mortal eye 'tis still unknown.
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