Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Ashes and Incense: Poems
I throw my rhymes and roses down, and wait. Like beads of ?ame strung on a golden thread, The notes of Shelley's lark ?oat o'er my head, And still is heard, 0 Keats, thy nightingale When darkness falls across yon wooded dale; While Hebrew harp and Attic lyre prolong The melody of their full-throated song.
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