Priscila Reis

77%
Flag icon
Until they lock it in the grave, ’T is bliss I cannot weigh, For though they lock thee in the grave, Myself can hold the key. Think of it, lover! I and thee Permitted face to face to be; After a life, a death we’ll say, — For death was that, and this is thee.
Collected Poems
Rate this book
Clear rating
Open Preview