Last Updated:2022/12/23
It was a crumbling heap, whose portal dark / With blooming ivy trails was overgrown; / Upon whose floor the spangling sands were strown, / And rarest sea-shells, which the eternal flood, / Slave to the mother of the months, had thrown / Within the walls of that gray tower, […]
音声機能が動作しない場合はこちらをご確認ください
Edit Histories(0)
Source Sentence