Lucile By Owen Meredith [i.e. E. R. B. Lytton] |
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Lucile | ||
VII.
Time passes. The dumbBitter, snow-bound, and sullen November is come.
And its snows have been bathed in the blood of the brave:
And many a young heart has glutted the grave:
And on Inkerman yet the wild bramble is gory,
And those bleak heights henceforth shall be famous in story.
Lucile | ||