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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507167" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lost Love</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=507167" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">His eyes are quickened so with grief,<br>He can watch a grass or leaf<br>Every instant grow; he can<br>Clearly through a flint wall see,<br>Or watch the startled spirit flee<br>From the throat of a dead man.<br>Across two counties he can hear,<br>And catch your words before you speak.<br>The woodlouse or the maggot's weak<br>Clamour rings in his sad ear;<br>And noise so slight it would surpass<br>Credence: — drinking sound of grass,<br>Worm-talk, clashing jaws of moth<br>Chumbling holes in cloth:<br>The groan of ants who undertake<br>Gigantic loads for honour's sake —<br>Their sinews creak, their breath comes thin:<br>Whir of spiders when they spin,<br>And minute whispering, mumbling, sighs<br>Of idle grubs and flies.<br>This man is quickened so with grief,<br>He wanders god-like or like thief<br>Inside and out, below, above,<br>Without relief seeking lost love.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robert+Graves">Robert Graves</a></strong></div>

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