In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.
Collected poems, 1909-1935 (ed. London, Faber, 1936)
In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.
Collected poems, 1909-1935 (ed. London, Faber, 1936)