Chapter 69
What's Wrong? by Radcliffe Hall, redforlibrivax.org There's something wrong with the world today. What can it be? What can it be? The morn is at six, and the year is at May.
So may happen that something is wrong with me. But there's something wrong with the joyous sound of the thrush in the apple tree. There's something gone from my heart I trow. That then is why, that then is why, the flower seems dead on the awkward bow. And never a sunbeam is in the sky.
There's something gone, and the light of dawn is the dimmer when you're not by. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
