A gentle throb, a warm breath,
The consciousness of travelling,
Of the
they say love ain't fair,
don't let them go there.
i'm not
Siedi qui, vicino a me,
parlami del cielo, dei tuoi viaggi
Fluid is the night which I plunge in,
Coloured by the
Like a fast start is the sonorous wake,
A voice made
hen everything is bathed in colour
And a blinding golden
From the rugged mountains,
Down to the valley,
Amongst the fresh clouds
Which
The leaves grown dark
By the autumn wind fall
Cover the ground,
Cover
[Lines by Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830-1894]
Thou sleepest where the lilies
» More on Gothica