Transport for LondonPoem for the day
The Sick Rose
O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm,
Has found out they bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does they life destroy.
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm,
Has found out they bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does they life destroy.
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