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    Brooding Grief

    by D.H. Lawrence
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    Page 1 of 1
    A yellow leaf from the darkness
    Hops like a frog before me.
    Why should I start and stand still?

    I was watching the woman that bore me
    Stretched in the brindled darkness
    Of the sick-room, rigid with will
    To die: and the quick leaf tore me
    Back to this rainy swill
    Of leaves and lamps and traffic mingled before me.
    Page 1 of 1
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