söndag 27 november 2016


Poetry is the achievement of the
synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
                           Carl Sandburg


He has hanged himself — the Sun.
He dangles
A scarecrow in thin air.

He is dead for love — the Sun
He who in forest tangles
Wooed all things fair.

That great lover — the Sun
Now spangles
The wood with blood-stains.

He has hanged himself — the Sun.
How thin he dangles
In these gray rains!

            F. W. Harvey, 1888-1957

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