Spoiler: When early morn walks forth in sober grey. - William Blake
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Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees,
Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,
I walk the village round; if at her side
A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,
I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,
That made my love so high and me so low.
O should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear
And throw all pity on the burning air;
I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot,
And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot.
Originally Posted by Honest Tiefling
Re: Cursed, of Course: A Fantasy Comic
OotS Avatar by Linklele.
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