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"Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. "
John Keats ; Ode to a Nightingale - Stanza VII
Room background : [link]
Grunge texture : [link]
Picture in the frame : [link]
Girls : [link] [link]
Bird on the frame girl's knee : [link]
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. "
John Keats ; Ode to a Nightingale - Stanza VII
Room background : [link]
Grunge texture : [link]
Picture in the frame : [link]
Girls : [link] [link]
Bird on the frame girl's knee : [link]
Image size
1024x734px 801.96 KB
© 2008 - 2024 elisabethhiljainen
Comments9
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J'ai le sentiment de ne pas comprendre ce qu'est ce rêve sacrifié...