Spend the glittering moonlight there. Pursuing down the soundless deep. Limbs that gleam and shadowy hair, Or floating lazy, half-asleep. Dive and double and follow after, Snare in flowers, and kiss, and call, With lips that fade, and human laughter. And faces individual, Well this side of Paradise! . . . There's little comfort in the wise.
Rupert BrookeAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: August 3, 1887
- Died: April 23, 1915
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I could see my mother going in Spaulding's and asking the salesman a million dopy questions - and here I was getting the ax again. It mad me feel pretty sad. She bought me the wrong kind of skates - I wanted racing skates and she bought me hockey - but it made me sad anyway. Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad.
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