Melancholy Song
Slowly, softly, so quietly and quickly
that the thunder took refuge ruefully,
the evening everywhere ended.
Time …today, tomorrow…tumbled,
bound beyond beauty, between
purity poured poorly
and
listless life loved long.
Melancholy Song
Slowly, softly, so quietly and quickly
that the thunder took refuge ruefully,
the evening everywhere ended.
Time …today, tomorrow…tumbled,
bound beyond beauty, between
purity poured poorly
and
listless life loved long.
Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
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