Rome
Sara Teasdale
Oh for the rising moon Over the roofs of Rome, And swallows in the dusk Circling a darkened dome! Oh for the measured dawns That pass with folded wings— How can I let them go With unremembered things?
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Oh for the rising moon Over the roofs of Rome, And swallows in the dusk Circling a darkened dome! Oh for the measured dawns That pass with folded wings— How can I let them go With unremembered things?
