Senlin: His Futile Preoccupations (Conrad Aiken Poem)
1 Senlin sits before us, and we see him. He smokes his pipe before us, and we hear him. Is ...
1 Senlin sits before us, and we see him. He smokes his pipe before us, and we hear him. Is ...
Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!— For the soul is dead that slumbers, And ...
1 He listened at the porch that day, To hear the wheel go on, and on; And then it stopped, ...
Bury thy sorrows, and they shall rise As souls to the immortal skies, And there look down like mothers' eyes. ...
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