I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature,–in the genial Summertime.
I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of
I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature,–in the genial Summertime.
