I am the wind that sighs above
Who through the cloud shoots pointed love
I am that pale capricious child
Whose soul is neither meek nor mild
Whose bow is bent, whose arrow falls
And makes imposters of you all
Cupid
Two Women and Some Books
I am the wind that sighs above
Who through the cloud shoots pointed love
I am that pale capricious child
Whose soul is neither meek nor mild
Whose bow is bent, whose arrow falls
And makes imposters of you all
Leave a comment