I peered into the crater’s heaving red
And quailed. I called upon the Muse. I said,
“The day I cease to serve you, let me die!”
And woke alone to birdsong, in our bed.
...
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I think James Merrill is a fine poet from left-field, but this poem reads as
possibly too long and intricate. Merrill has written better, in my opinion.
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I think James Merrill is a fine poet from left-field, but this poem reads as possibly too long and intricate. Merrill has written better, in my opinion.