Category: Poetry
Selected Poems
Shepherd, to yon tall poplars tune your flute: Let them pierce, keenly, subtly shrill, The slow blue rumour of the hill; Let the grass cry with an anguish of evening gold, And the great sky be mute.
Chapters
1. Part 1
Shepherd, to yon tall poplars tune your flute: Let them pierce, keenly, subtly shrill, The slow blue rumour of the hill; Let the grass cry with an anguish of evening gold, And t...
2. Part 2The eyes of the portraits on the wall Look at me, follow me, Stare incessantly: I take it their glance means nothing at all? --Clearly, oh clearly! Nothing at all....