From crag to cloud, the echo rings—
The voice of kings, of vanished things.
The hawk above, the stone below—
And still we climb, though none may know.
From A Poem A Day: All Continental Europe
From crag to cloud, the echo rings—
The voice of kings, of vanished things.
The hawk above, the stone below—
And still we climb, though none may know.
From A Poem A Day: All Continental Europe
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