By Wole Soyinka Hanging day.A hollow earthEchoes footsteps of the grave procession.Walls in sunspotsLean to shadow of the shortening morn. Behind an eyepatch lushly blue.The …
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The Darkling Thrush
By Thomas Hardy I leant upon a coppice gateWhen Frost was spectre-grey,And Winter’s dregs made desolateThe weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the …