A wounded deer leaps highest, I’ve heard the hunter tell; ‘T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes,The…
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad for life, mad for talking, mad for poetry.
A wounded deer leaps highest, I’ve heard the hunter tell; ‘T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes,The…