Poems by Enid Derham

Sorted by title, showing title and first line

Let others prate of Greece and Rome,
When the impatient spirit leaves behind
I leave the world to-morrow,
O city, look the Eastward way!
The Soul, of late a lovely sleeping child,
Coming down the mountain road
Miles and miles of quiet houses, every house a harbour,
My folk’s the wind-folk, it’s there I belong,

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