The jamb of the window was cool against Erienne’s temple… When the carriage turned up the lane leading to the… The high, bright moon cast a silver halo around the… Lord Saxton’s insistent rap on the door of the mayor’s… Glistening bright sunlight filled the bedchamber in rich abundance as… The rickety livery from Mawbry was hired to deliver the… If there could be such a thing as a gray…Ī yellowish-red glow became her sun, a light shining through…įor half an hour before the appointed time, Farrell stood… In the eastern sky, shafts of vibrant color radiated from… The front door closed gently but with the same effect…įodder would be anything but plentiful in the approaching months… That true love once found will again be restored. The winter’s rose doth promise in the fading runes of yore, ’Til ajousting and aquesting he goes no more.įear not, Sweet Jo, amoulderin’ on the moor. Left behind by yon argent knight sworn to war, Of the maid who waits and weeps atop the tor, Red as a drop o’ blood from the broken heart, Spawned in a season when the chill winds blow.
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