Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
Alfred Lord TennysonBut what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Alfred Lord TennysonOf happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
Alfred Lord TennysonBut what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Alfred Lord Tennyson