France is not poetic she even feels in fact a congenital horror of poetry. Among the writers who use verse those whom she will always prefer are the most prosaic.
O Death rock me asleep bring me to quiet rest let pass my weary guiltless ghost out of my careful breast.
Gotta break your neck to see a star in this yard.
The dreadful truth is that when people come to see their MP they have run...
When we are dealing with death we are constantly being dragged down by the...
