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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
A New Addition to this Forum
Hi there! I'm Gus, a new member on this forum (so take easy on me). I joined in order to be able to enter the skype conferences and begin practising speaking soon. But before I enter the conferences I intend to have good discussions here, then I want to say that I like animals and I have a thing for eccentric matters, so I likely will spend the most of my time at the science and nature's section and, maybe, at poetry's section.