“Rhyme, that enslaved queen, that supreme charm of our poetry, that creator of our meter.”
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Sorrow is a fruit. God does not make it grow on limbs too weak to bear it.
“Rhyme, that enslaved queen, that supreme charm of our poetry, that creator of our meter.”
Tip: press → for another quote, C to copy, S to share.
Sorrow is a fruit. God does not make it grow on limbs too weak to bear it.