Her Wretched Throne

I once shifted round to see the other side;
(white hawthorn palely loitering)
the midnight hours are old and gray
the voice of busy fears was heard in ancient days
the skies not a joy for our country's love
her throne wretched and the bare heath of life stood by
nightshade and the bare span of the soul

[generated/wrangled out of Botnik using the John Keats Voice.]

« return to contents