Of Robert Frost
There is a little lightning in his eyes. Iron at the mouth. His brows ride neither too far up nor down. He is splendid. With a place to stand. Some glowing in the common blood. Some specialness within.
PoetryVerse
There is a little lightning in his eyes. Iron at the mouth. His brows ride neither too far up nor down. He is splendid. With a place to stand. Some glowing in the common blood. Some specialness within.
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