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1892–1953

III.

Edward Shanks

Is there no prophylactic against love? Can I with drugs not dull the ache one night? The rain is heavy and the low clouds move Over the empty home of our delight

And find me in it weeping. You are far And you are now asleep. The night's so thick, Not even one stooping and compassionate star Shines on us both disparted. O be quick,

Torturing days and heavy, turn your hours To minutes, melt yourselves into one day! ... The cold rain falls in swift assailing showers, Darkness is round me and light far away.

I'm in our well-known room and you're shut in By strange unfriendly walls I've never seen.

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III. · Edward Shanks · Poetry Cove