Ten o’clock, the broken moon hangs not yet a half-hour high, yellow as a shield of brass. In the dewy air of June, poised between the vaulted sky and the ocean’s liquid glass.
Emma Lazarus
Beeldspreuken
Beeldspreuken
Ten o’clock, the broken moon hangs not yet a half-hour high, yellow as a shield of brass. In the dewy air of June, poised between the vaulted sky and the ocean’s liquid glass.