• Embed Doc
  • Readcast
  • Collections
  • CommentGo Back
Download
 
PART I
Summer 1835
 Away, away, o’er valley plain I sweep you with a voice o wrath; In a feecy cloud I wrap my train, As I tread my iron path. My bowels are re and my arm is steel, My breath is a rolling cloud: And my voice peels out as I onward wheel, Like the thunder rolling loud.
of 00

Leave a Comment

You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...
You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...