Watching the tremulous flicker of the green Against the open quiet of the sky, I hear my ancient way-fellows convene In the great wood behind me. Where I lie They may not see me; for the grasses grow As though no foot save June's had wandered by;…
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.