Incipit
Bleak autumn mists send down their chilly load, A raven shivers as he flutters by; Thro’ lonely pasture winds the Rutted Road Where bord’ring elms loom bare against the sky. Those deep-sunk tracks, which dumbly point ahead, O’er travell’d sands that stretch to Vision’s rim, Wake hidden thoughts—a longing half a dread— Till Fancy pauses at the prospect dim. Descending shadows bid me haste along The ancient ruts so many knew before; A cricket mocks me with his mirthless song— I fear the path—I fain would see no more. Yet here, with ox-drawn cart, each thoughtless swain His cours …
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Aucune entité de l’ontologie n’apparaît dans ce texte.