Hans Rustad After great pain, a formal feeling comes The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore, And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round Of Ground, or Air, or Ought A Wooden way Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone This is the Hour of Lead […]
Logg inn for å lese videre (abonnenter).
Støtt uavhengige nyheter!
Bli abonnentPluss-artikler blir åpnet 24 timer etter publisering. Artikler som er eldre enn to år er forbeholdt abonnenter.
