Writing is most amusing when it plays with your emotions. It makes me laugh; it makes me cry; it makes me think; and, it makes me begin things that I don't always finish. At the end, I seem to always find myself refreshed.
Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
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