Here’s a good poem for a bleak day, by Yeats, at the end of his life. Some poets you admire and some you love. Milton and Wordsworth I admire. Coleridge and Yeats I love.
A Stick of Incense
Whence did all that fury come,
From empty tomb or Virgin womb?
St Joseph thought the world would melt
But liked the way his finger smelt.
THE MAN WHO CAN'T DIE
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GAHA: BABES OF THE ABYSS
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SPECIMEN TANK
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