And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar,
The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
TONE
30 मिलियन से अधिक स्टोरीबोर्ड बनाए गए
कोई डाउनलोड नहीं, कोई क्रेडिट कार्ड नहीं, और कोशिश करने के लिए किसी लॉगिन की आवश्यकता नहीं है!