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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BRICK-DUST, by LOUISE BROOKE First Line: It's just a heap of ruin Last Line: A little dream that died. Subject(s): Home | |||
It's just a heap of ruin, A drunken brick carouse -- This thing my spirit grew in That once was called a house. An attic where I scribbled Through baking summer days, While street-pianos nibbled At the patient Marseillaise. The spider-landlord squatted In a web of dinner-smells, And people slowly rotted In little gossip-hells. I hated all I learned there-- And yet I could have cried For a little oil I burned there, A little dream that died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EL FLORIDA ROOM by RICHARD BLANCO DESTINATIONS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN TO THIS HOUSE by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE UPSTAIRS ROOM by WELDON KEES HOME IS SO SAD by PHILIP LARKIN DUTCH INTERIOR by DAVID LEHMAN TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 2 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH |
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