Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last-far off-at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
The Poetical Works (ed. 1874)
Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last-far off-at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
The Poetical Works (ed. 1874)