The Rating of Poets • The Rating of Poems
Poem by Thomas Ernest Hulme
Mana Aboda
Beauty is the marking-time, the stationary vibration, the feigned ecstasy of an arrested impulse unable to reach its natural end.
Mana Aboda, whose bent form The sky in arched circle is, Seems ever for an unknown grief to mourn. Yet on a day I heard her cry: "I weary of the roses and the singing poets- Josephs all, not tall enough to try."
Thomas Ernest Hulme
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