The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl’s in Tungria; I sleep alone.
Categories: Poetry
Tagged: history, homesickness, military, W. H. Auden
The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl’s in Tungria; I sleep alone.
Categories: Poetry
Tagged: history, homesickness, military, W. H. Auden
How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics?
Categories: Poetry
Tagged: love poetry, politics, W.B. Yeats, war
But these maneuverings to avoid
The touching of hands,
These shifts to keep the eyes employed…
Categories: Poetry
Tagged: Donald Justice, love poetry