And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
what is poetry if not seeing and feeling, and feeling, feelings running deepand okay _ do I see, notice the gray pigeon feathers that heave by on drafts of passing cars reeking, leaking gasoline fumesand okay _ do I feel?
Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
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what is poetry if not seeing and feeling, and feeling, feelings running deepand okay _ do I see, notice the gray pigeon feathers that heave by on drafts of passing cars reeking, leaking gasoline fumesand okay _ do I feel?
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