"And can this be my own world? 'Tis all gold and snow, Save where scarlet waves are hurled Down yon gulf below." "'Tis thy world, 'tis my world, City, mead, and shore, For he that hath his own world Hath many worlds more." A boy, whom I knew very well, was once going through a meadow, which was full of buttercups. The nurse and his baby sister were with him; and when they got to an old hawthorn, which grew in the hedge and was covered with blossom, they all sat down in its shade, and the nurse took out three slices of plum-cake, gave one to each of the children, and kept one for herself.…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.