On such a night,’ I thought, ‘were ill and good,
Bright and unlovely; precious, tawdry,
All mingled into one
And pressed against my heart.

Auteur: Irene Hunt

On such a night,’ I thought, ‘were ill and good,<br />Bright and unlovely; precious, tawdry, <br />All mingled into one<br />And pressed against my heart. - Irene Hunt

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