It is the hour

when from the bows
the Nightingales high note
is heard.

it is the hour
when lovers' vows
seems sweet
in every whisper'd world

and gente winds and waters near,
make music
to the lonely ear.


~ Byron ~

Είναι τόσο κρίμα

για τα άσπρα διάφανα κρίνα

να είναι τόσο χλωμά...

photos: lilies by wistine (da)
lilies by withoutloveweperish (da)