Rupert Brooke: The Fish
O world of lips, O world of laughter,
Where hope is fleet and thought flies after,
Of lights in the clear night, of cries
That drift along the wave and rise
September 2, 2022 · 8 Comments
Charlotte Mew: May 1915
Let us remember Spring will come again To the scorched, blackened woods, where the wounded trees Wait with their old wise patience for the heavenly rain, Sure of the sky: … Continue reading
July 18, 2017 · Leave a comment
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