Mourning Poem For The Queen Of Sunday (Robert Hayden Poems)
Lord's lost Him His mockingbird, His fancy warbler; Satan sweet-talked her, four bullets hushed her. Who would have thought she'd end that way?Four bullets hushed ...
Lord's lost Him His mockingbird, His fancy warbler; Satan sweet-talked her, four bullets hushed her. Who would have thought she'd end that way?Four bullets hushed ...
Her sleeping head with its great gelid mass of serpents torpidly astir burned into the mirroring shield-- a scathing image ...
When it is finally ours, this freedom, this liberty, this beautiful and terrible thing, needful to man as air, usable ...
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