"...But to me the darkness was red-gold and crocus-coloured,
With your brightness,
And the words you whispered to me,
Sprang up and flamed—orange torches against the rain.
Torches against the wall of cool, silver rain!" ---Summer Rain, Amy Lowell
Are these frail limbs which entwine About his body, he knows not my Heart’s frightened drum solo, Guilt stains, it cuts deep, it is sleepless, It’s just culture, the empty approach.
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