Benet: Elegy for an Enemy

(For G. H.) Say, does that stupid earth Where they have laid her, Bind still her sullen mirth, Mirth which betrayed her? Do the lush grasses hold, Greenly and glad, That brittle-perfect gold She alone had? Smugly the common crew, Over their knitting, Mourn her — as butchers do Sheep-throats they’re slitting! She was my [...]

Read Full Post »