The Spilling Of The Wine (Lola Ridge Poems)
The soldiers lie upon the snow,That no longer gyrates under the spinning lightsNight juggles in her fat black hands.They will ...
The soldiers lie upon the snow,That no longer gyrates under the spinning lightsNight juggles in her fat black hands.They will ...
A spring wind on the Bowery,Blowing the fluff of night sheltersOff bedraggled garments,And agitating the gutters, that eject little spirals ...
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