Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Collected Poems, Vol. 2
A yard in front, a yard behind, So strait my world was grown, I stooped to win once more some kind Glimmer of twig or stone.
I crossed and lost the friendly stile And listened. Never a sound Came to me. Mile on mile on mile It seemed the world around Beneath some infinite sea lay drowned With all that e'er drew breath; Whilst I, alone, had strangely found A moment's life in death.
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