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The Illiterate
The Illiterate by William Meredith Touching your goodness, I am like a man Who turns a letter over in his hand And you might think that this was because the hand Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man Has never had a letter from anyone; And now he is both afraid of what it means…
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Poet: 1935
Poet: 1935 by Dylan Thomas See, on gravel paths under the harpstrung trees He steps so near the water that a swan’s wing Might play upon his lank locks with its wind, The lake’s voice and the rolling of mock waves Make discord with the voice within his ribs That thunders as heart thunders, slows…