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I I love the silvery tracery of the moon I The sunshine painting golden gems j at noon, ! I love the sighing wind, the zephyr | soft. j The wee soft cloudlets scurrying by I aloft. ! I love to feel the wondrous glow of And if a cold should come to me by stealth, I never let. the miscreant foe mature. But fight, him fair with Woods' Ores* Cure.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/STEP19331202.2.64.2
Bibliographic details
Stratford Evening Post, Volume II, Issue 424, 2 December 1933, Page 5
Word Count
68Page 5 Advertisements Column 2 Stratford Evening Post, Volume II, Issue 424, 2 December 1933, Page 5
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