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Brooding Grief

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Written by David Herbert Lawrence

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 A yellow leaf from the darkness 
Hops like a frog before me.
Why should I start and stand still? I was watching the woman that bore me Stretched in the brindled darkness Of the sick-room, rigid with will To die: and the quick leaf tore me Back to this rainy swill Of leaves and lamps and traffic mingled before me.


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