poetry

Oscar in his third and final act was perhaps on the surface a different sort of animal; withdrawn and solemn, altogether lacking in the choice witticisms that made his name. I like to think that nothing had changed – here is the honesty and compassion that I see in his essays and his novel, just …

Oscar Wilde – The Ballad of Reading Gaol Read More »

Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again. Raised in Worcestershire and finding myself eventually settled in …

A. E. Housman – A Shropshire Lad Read More »