Maybe its the change in weather. Winter. Icy fingers inches away, ready to grab you.
An aged man now entered, and without
One word, stept slowly on, and took the wrist
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw
The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.
Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried
“O father! grieve no more: the ships can sail.”
Poem by Walter Savage Landor, Iphigeneia
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