|
Blank Verse 259 O bough, whence springs the apple of my eye, Whose apples sup the music from your skin, Let not your fingers falter in their grip To let the wind unclench your sturdy hand Before your fruits with ripened melodies Incline themselves to fall upon the clay. O apple, whose descent does me disease For with you leaves a shiver of my flesh And kills me, steals a seed of what I am, And plants below the clay another tree Whose apples taste familiar with my song And chokes the very roots from which it sprung: Instead, let you be plucked and carried off And swallowed from the flesh until the core, And let your better music be enjoyed But bitter seed discarded and destroyed. 1 Comments. If I could write stuff like this I'd never get a B in Lit/Writ again. » randomjunk on 2007-09-16 09:48:53
Sorry, you do not have permission to comment. If you are a member, try logging in again or accessing this page here. |
NuTang is the first web site to implement PPGY Technology. This page was generated in 0.248seconds. |
|
Send to a friend on AIM | Set as Homepage | Bookmark | Home | NuTang Collage | Terms of Service & Privacy Policy | Link to Us | Monthly Top 10s |
All content � Copyright 2003-2047 NuTang.com and respective members. Contact us at NuTang[AT]gmail.com. |