The Souls of Black Folk · ¶394
He sat one morning gazing toward the sea. He smiled and said, “The gate is rusty on the hinges.” That night at star-rise a wind came moaning out of the west to blow the gate ajar, and then the soul I loved fled like a flame across the Seas, and in its seat sat Death.Read in context ›
Project Gutenberg ebook 408
Project Gutenberg ebook 408
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