My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.
I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.
- Emily Dickinson SPLIT the lark and you ’ll find the music, Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled, Scantily dealt to the summer morning, Saved…
- Gerard Manley Hopkins No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter,…
- Gerard Manley Hopkins Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist — slack they may be — these last…