A Dirge
Rough Wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, _
Wail, for the world’s wrong!
A Dirge
Rough Wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, _
Wail, for the world’s wrong!
Immigrant November ’63: eight months in London. I pause on the low bridge to watch the pelicans: they float…
Thoughts On A Station PlatformIt ought to be plainhow little you gainby getting excitedand vexed.You’ll always be latefor the previous…
In truth there are only two kinds of people, those who accept dogmas and know it, and those who accept…