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Thanks to a residency at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at LMU M√ľnchen, where I tutor composition and edit a poetry weekly, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.




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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