April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land,…
by Dev
You've never laughed Until the world Has been beneath you A mosaic map…
Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow…
Before my drift-wood fire I sit, And see, with every waif I burn,…
Supper comes at five o'clock, At six, the evening star, My lover comes…
From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen…
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.…
The low sandy beach and the thin scrub pine, The wide reach of bay and…
I will make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at…
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will…
