"She says, “I am content when wakened birds, Before they fly, test the reality Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings; But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields Return no more, where, then, is paradise?”
"Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice."https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/13261/sunday-morning …
-
-
Show this thread
-
"She says, 'But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss.' Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams And our desires."
Show this thread
End of conversation
New conversation -
Loading seems to be taking a while.
Twitter may be over capacity or experiencing a momentary hiccup. Try again or visit Twitter Status for more information.