The finger notes of my next opponent in the 90+30 tournament give the beginning of the following poem from W.H. Auden. Lay your sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm; Time and fevers burn away Individual beauty from Thoughtful children, and the grave Proves the child ephemeral: But in my arms till break [...]
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Lay your sleeping head, my love — W.H. Auden
Posted in Poem on December 1, 2010 |
