One of my more favorite lines of poetry...
"Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still."
Which poem, and who wrote it?
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1 comment:
Well, I just read this so I recall the line well: It's The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot. (PS, though depressing, I actually really liked this poem, just for how powerfully it tells the cry of a broken heart. I wonder how long after he wrote it he became a Christian)
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