Как же это стихотворение соответствует моему вчерашнему настроению, когда мне снилась любовь...
Rain on the windows, creaking doors,
With blasts that besom the green;
And I am here, and you are there,
And a hundred miles between!
O were it but the weather, Dear,
O were it but the miles
That summed up all our severance,
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