He wonder’d, / He stood in his / Shoes and he wonder’d.
John Keats, ‘A Song about Myself’
The birds were silent in their nest, / And I must seek for mine
Wm Blake, ‘Night’
They are not long, the days of wine and roses
Ernest Dowson (1867-1900) trans Horace
And there was his house, clear against the skyline:
A solid-looking, stone-built place, fenced about with split oak
Neil Curry’s translation of The Odyssey: The Bending of the Bow.
When all the hills are flat, / and all the seas run dry…
Anon




