Dead Poets' Society
Time merges between these lines, the past
And the present meet here on this page -
Great minds in contrast
Here they are on this great stage.
This great poet in a Waste Land resides -
To the eye, Paradise Lost.
Had he but World enough and Time to abide
He would be happy to count the cost.
Upon Westminster Bridge he’d stand
And think about that famous Lock,
Why against his command
She kept building Walls around the clock.
Would that she’d gladly be his Annabelle Lee,
Sailing to Byzantium they’d go-
Not stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening be,
But in Another Life, he her beau.