The Unpossessed Daily we come upon surprise; The white shell crumbles underfoot; We drink the sea with thirsty eyes, Sinking again man's oldest root. Man's elder hope we plant once more In the...
|
Tryst Now that the mist is in, and no wind blows, And all of the world is a great grey silence, sleeping, I must go down to the place my lone heart knows And set my thoughts again to an old...
|