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Anon
Julie Carter M.A. Griffiths Daniel Haar Jerry Glenn Hartwig Jan D. Hodge Rose Kelleher Frank Osen Julie Stoner Robert Schecter Marion Shore --Back to Bumbershoot Contents-- |
Tailgaters Mixerby various authorsFool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart, and write. Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
Arise from your slumber! Arise from your sleep!
I could not love thee, dear, so much Arma virumque cano … They flee from me that sometime did me seek. The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Not in a silver casket cool with pearls, Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest Whan that Aprille, with hise shoures soote Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, I do not like it Sam-I-Am, Nobody heard him, the dead man My love is like to ice, and I to fire: Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, I, being born a woman and distressed Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. The time you won your town the race The time you won your town the race ”Why so pale and wan, fond lover?” Do not go gentle into that good night, They are not long, the days of wine and roses: The world is charged with the grandeur of God Look thy last on all things lovely, O who will sing for Lycidas? Surprised by joy, impatient as the wind, Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, Barb’rous Nations and more barb’rous Times. |