Cold is the night in the Great Moor, the rain pours down, no trifle; a roar in which the clean wind rejoices howls over the sheltering wood.
– Irish; author unknown; eighth-ninth century
– My wife, about five minutes ago.
Cold is the night in the Great Moor, the rain pours down, no trifle; a roar in which the clean wind rejoices howls over the sheltering wood.
– Irish; author unknown; eighth-ninth century
– My wife, about five minutes ago.