Sunday, October 12, 2008

Mirage 1941

I'll think of love in books, love without end,
... Wet, strong plough lands, scarred for certain grain;
... And the young heavens forgetful after rain.
And evening's hush ... song's nobility, wisdom holy-
That live, we dead. I would think of a thousand things
... I have need to busy my heart with quietude...”

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