by Dev
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety…
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, Whereunder crawling coop'd we…
The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a…
What is it men in women do require? The lineaments of Gratified Desire.…
Poor and content is rich, and rich enough. SHAKESPEARE……
His soul stretched tight across the skies That fade behind a city…
