Tomcsik Orsolya

Tomcsik Orsolya

Tomcsik Orsolya
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The moon's a gong, hung in the wild, Whose song the fays hold dear. Of course you do not hear it, child. It takes a FAIRY ear. The full moon is a splendid gong That beats as night grows still. It sounds above the evening song Of dove or whippoorwill.

The moon's a gong, hung in the wild, Whose song the fays hold dear. It takes a FAIRY ear. The full moon is a splendid gong That beats as night grows still. It sounds above the evening song Of dove or whippoorwill.