Doth if not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?
By Richard Le Gallienne
(The Passionate Reader To His Poet)
Rilke,
Gathering thunderstorms.
Unlike you or me.
So deep and hard into that muck
Where the tears dry,
He keeps his hand strong.
And you and me,
On that perilous corner,
Choking on powdered asphalt...
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