…from the quills of the dead white poets

Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)

      Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
      With drowsy head and folded wing,
      Among the green leaves as they shake
      Far down within some shadowy lake,
      To me a painted paroquet
      Hath been- a most familiar bird-
      Taught me my alphabet to say-
      To lisp my very earliest word
      While in the wild wood I did lie,
      A child- with a most knowing eye.
Golden Sunrise
      Of late, eternal Condor years
      So shake the very Heaven on high
      With tumult as they thunder by,
      I have no time for idle cares
      Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
      And when an hour with calmer wings
      Its down upon my spirit flings-
      That little time with lyre and rhyme
      To while away- forbidden things!
      My heart would feel to be a crime
      Unless it trembled with the strings.

About Paul Jacko

Jacko was born in Czechoslovakia not long before the communist putsch in February 1948. He studied industrial chemistry there and left in 1969 for Australia, where he became a lawyer and established his own practice. He has now retired and beside hunting, fishing, camping, prospecting and playing golf he amuses himself by writing.
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One Response to Romance

  1. tell ho says:

    Nice, from old Poe.

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