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Date: | Mon, 6 Oct 2003 10:51:41 -0400 |
Content-Type: | multipart/mixed |
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Mollusk poems are not my style.
None of them are in my file.
They just seem to raise my bile.
I don't like 'em!
Arthur Weil
>
> From: Antonetta Stanzione <[log in to unmask]>
> Date: 2003/10/05 Sun PM 08:52:15 EDT
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: A poem I would like to share
>
> Seashell Murmurs
>
> The hollow seashell which for years hath stood
> On dusty shelves, when held against the ear
> Proclaims it stormy parent; and we hear
> The faint far murmur of the breaking flood.
> We hear the sea. The Sea? It is the blood
> In our own veins, impetuous and near,
> And pulses keeping pace with hope and fear
> And with our feelings' every shifting mood.
> Lo, in my heart I hear, as in a shell,
> The murmur of a world beyond the grave,
> Distinct, distinct though faint and far it be.
> Thou fool: this echo is a cheat as well,-
> The hum of earthly instincts; and we crave
> A world unreal a, shell -heard sea
> Eugene Lee-Hamilton (1845-1907)
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>
> Toni |
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>
PLEASE NOTE: My new, long-term, and correct email address is: [log in to unmask] Please update your records!
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