A poem is a little machine for remembering itself
A poem is a little machine for remembering itself
The Vulture The Vulture eats between his meals And that's the reason why He very, very rarely feels As well…
From Ode to Memory Thou who stealest fire, From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present, oh, haste,…
If you wait by the river long enough, eventually you will see the bodies of all your enemies float by.