Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
Similar:
‘People are rooting for the whale’: the strange American tradition of Moby-Dick reading ma...
Googling Is for Old People. That’s a Problem for Google.
Each building in my #medievalyork simulation has four levels of detail (so that distant ob...
Another corner building. Designed and textured. Needs an interior. #blender3d #design #ae...
What have my students learned about creative nonfiction writing? During class they are col...
There’s No Longer Any Doubt That Hollywood Writing Is Powering AI