Showing Results 1 - 2 of 2
In the evening through her garden
Wanders the Alcalde’s daughter;
Festal sounds of drum and trumpet
Ring out hither from the castle.
“I am weary of the dances,
Honeyed words of adulation
From the…
This is November
Season of mills.
Wind of the black early morning services.
Cemetery
And thousandnightliness
Of the childish little candles,
And their fear.
Trudging now
Through the…