Poetry: A Sign-Seeker by Thomas Hardy
A Sign-Seeker by Thomas Hardy I mark the months in liveries dank and dry, The day-tides many-shaped and hued; I see the nightfall shades subtrude, And…
Poetry: This Living Hand by John Keats
This Living Hand by John Keats This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold and in the icy silence of the…
Diary | Solitude
within a place myself finds now to then is i . a palmy feeling with needs to speak ess to listen ore. exotic placed shadows tremble to…
Poetry: Fever 103° by Sylvia Plath
Fever 103° by Sylvia Plath Pure? What does it mean? The tongues of hell Are dull, dull as the triple Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus Who wheezes at…
Poetry: From The House of Fame by Geoffrey Chaucer
From The House of Fame by Geoffrey Chaucer Lo, how a woman goes amiss In loving him that unknown is, For, by Christ, lo, thus it fares: All…