I am back from the faraway cold lands. Tonight, Sleep is sulking and does not wish to come to me.
On long nights such as these, I think of that A E Housman short:
When the bells justle in the tower
The hollow night amid,
Then on my tongue the taste is sour,
Of all I ever did.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
The Long Nights
Scribbled by Eastertide at 27.5.07 Labels: A E Housman, mood
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