The Weary Hunting (Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck Poems)
My soul is sick, in evil mood; Stricken with many a lack it lies, Stricken with silence, and mine eyesIllume it with ...
My soul is sick, in evil mood; Stricken with many a lack it lies, Stricken with silence, and mine eyesIllume it with ...
I.THE flowing night awoken from my sleepRevealed a world of glory, while I stoodWatching the hazy, creeping ocean sweepOut of ...
The stupid jerk I'm obsessed with stands so close to me I can feel his breath on my neck and ...
The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat. The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The ...
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