Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 2, 2025
Bright blazed the torches as they swept along Through streets that rung with hymeneal song; And while gay youths, swift circling round and round, Danced to the pipe and harp's harmonious sound, The women thronged, and wondering as they viewed, Stood in each portal and the pomp pursued.
Aileen aroon. Is it the tender tone? Soft as the string'd harp's mean? No; it is Truth alone, Aileen aroon. I know a valley fair, Aileen aroon. I know a cottage there, Aileen aroon. Far in that valley's shade, I know a gentle maid, Flower of the hazel glade, Aileen aroon. Who in the song so sweet? Aileen aroon, Who in the dance so fleet? Aileen aroon.
Her hair, it is true, was "tucked up," but the innocence in the upturned, velvet eyes, the soft, childish outlines of the face, the dimpled hands and arms against the harp's glided strings, the simple little frock of white dimity, all combined to give her a "babyfied" look which was most appealing, and which her title of "Mrs. Poe" seemed rather to accentuate than otherwise.
She drew her guitar closer and sang: "The far distant sound of a harp's soft strings an echo on the air, The hidden page may be full of sweet things, of things that once were fair. There's a turned down page in each life, and mine a story might unfold, But the end was sad of the dream divine. It better rests untold." It was time for Harlan to arrive.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking