A Poet Reflects

                    I am moved by fancies that are curled                    Around these images, and cling:                    The notion of some infinitely gentle                    Infinitely suffering thing.
                   —T. S. Eliot, from “Preludes” lines 48-52 (1917)

                    I am moved by fancies that are curled
                    Around these images, and cling:
                    The notion of some infinitely gentle
                    Infinitely suffering thing.

                   —T. S. Eliot, from “Preludes” lines 48-52 (1917)

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