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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

20160826

To a Friend who sent me some Roses

by John Keats

As late I rambled in the happy fields,
  What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew
  From his lush clover covert;—when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,       
  A fresh-blown musk-rose; ’twas the first that threw
  Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As is the wand that queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
  I thought the garden-rose it far excell’d:        
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me
  My sense with their deliciousness was spell’d:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
  Whisper’d of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell’d.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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