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I remember a house where all were good
To me, Gods knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell breathed at very entering
Fetched fresh, as I suppos, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs th mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not correspond
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate seales
Complete thycreature dear O where it fails
Being mighty a master, being a father and found.

Text přidal roman59

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The Habit Of Perfection (with Jan Hrubý)


Maria Hoffman texty

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