The White Table, 4am. You are asleep my hope-and-all in the guest room above the night wind while I, at the white table, ponder nervous sounds of yet another night, a wakeful speck of metropolitan thought. It is the hour of the burglar and the anxious father, of late lovers and tragic drinkers... William Oxley retired from London and accountancy to become a poet in Devon. Since then he had devoted himself with gusto to every form of verse, especially the long poem which he with Sebastian Barker champions in the ...
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The White Table, 4am. You are asleep my hope-and-all in the guest room above the night wind while I, at the white table, ponder nervous sounds of yet another night, a wakeful speck of metropolitan thought. It is the hour of the burglar and the anxious father, of late lovers and tragic drinkers... William Oxley retired from London and accountancy to become a poet in Devon. Since then he had devoted himself with gusto to every form of verse, especially the long poem which he with Sebastian Barker champions in the Long Poem Group. The poems here range widely across history, philosophy and experience and art - the green crayon man being Van Gogh.
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