KnowledgeBy Louise BoganShare thisShareNow that I know How passion warms little Of flesh in the mould, And treasure is brittle,— I’ll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.
Now that I know How passion warms little Of flesh in the mould, And treasure is brittle,— I’ll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.
