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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 München, 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.

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Amaryllis

by E. A. Robinson


Once, when I wandered in the woods alone, 
An old man tottered up to me and said, 
“Come, friend, and see the grave that I have made 
For Amaryllis.”  There was in the tone 
Of his complaint such quaver and such moan
That I took pity on him and obeyed, 
And long stood looking where his hands had laid 
An ancient woman, shrunk to skin and bone. 

Far out beyond the forest I could hear 
The calling of loud progress, and the bold
Incessant scream of commerce ringing clear; 
But though the trumpets of the world were glad, 
It made me lonely and it made me sad 
To think that Amaryllis had grown old.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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