Amid the lonely strife, Goading us on from fatal hour to hour The brooding eyes of Care on her cowed victims lower ? Come, let us forth ! why heed pale Dutys frown,If from th accustomed task our truant feet Turn wantonly, stale prisoners of the Town ?Come, come, lets haste, ere yet a jealous fate… … ON THE KIND OF FICTIONCALLED MORBID
English literature · Literature, Modern · Art
Internet Archive · Philadelphia Museum of Art · Public Domain Mark 1.0. Free to use for anything.
