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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU M√ľnchen, where I edit a weekly circular of U.S. poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English and tutor composition.

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Idea

XX

by Michael Drayton


An evil Spirit (your Beauty) haunts me still,
Wherewith, alas, I have been long possesst;
Which ceaseth not to attempt me to each ill,
Nor give me once, but one poor minute’s rest.
  In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake:       
And when by means to drive it out I try,
With greater torments then it me doth take,
And tortures me in most extremity.
  Before my face, it lays down my despairs,
And hastes me on unto a sudden death:        
Now tempting me, to drown myself in tears;
And then in sighing to give up my breath.
  Thus am I still provoked to every evil,
  By this good-wicked Spirit, sweet Angel-Devil.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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