Bush, leaves

Titus Andronicus, [2.3.10-15]. Tamora. “My lovely Aaron, wherefore look’st thou sad,/ When everything doth make a gleeful boast?/ The birds chant melody on every bush,/ The snake lies rolleld in the cheerful sun,/ The green leaves quiver with theh cooling wind/ And make a checker’d shadow on the ground.”


%d bloggers like this: