“Yea, I have looked, and seen November there; The changeless seal of change it seemed to be, Fair death of things that, living once, were fair; Bright sign of loneliness too great for me, Strange image of the dread eternity, In whose void patience how can these have part, These outstretched feverish hands, this restless heart?”
Quote by William Morris
Book:Selected poems
Work
Selected poems
This book compiles a selection of poems that showcase the depth and diversity of the author's poetic voice, exploring a range of subjects and employing different literary techniques. more
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