Poetry & Literature
"True poetry . . . is always a creation within language and not without it. Ideas are born at the same time as their verbal expression. Hence, the language…
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Was it you who came to me, or I who went to you? I cannot tell. Was I awake or sleeping? Was it real, or just a dream? The man, breaking into a flood of tears, replied: In my chaotic heart of darkness I also cannot tell Come again tonight, and let us decide if it was a dream or real. Episode 69, ‘Was it Real, or Just a Dream?’
If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England’s, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.