Too dark for vision, too deep for sound,
John Masefield is a poet whose imagery leaps off the page, whether it is exciting, or joyous, or as here, the absolute opposite… and an absolute opposite to yesterday’s sonnet: There, on the darkened deathbed, dies the brain That flared three several times in seventy years; It cannot lift the silly hand again, Nor speak, […]
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Lois Elsden 