After Visiting an Asylum - by
I saw them sitting on a grassy bank –
/ Under the shade of mighty trees they were;
/ Yet those they saw…
thought
grave dust - by
The night I got grave dust on my hands after dusting off my mother’s grave / I was lent a…
The Guest House - by
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
The Prelude - by
an extract
/
/ She was an elfin Pinnace; lustily
/ I dipp’d my oars into the silent Lake,
/ And, as I rose upon the stroke,…