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This poem is taken from PN Review 86, Volume 18 Number 6, July - August 1992.

Seven Versions E.J. Scovell


Rivers and woods are soundless,
The sea, spread without waves.
The winds keep truce, asleep within their caves,
The moon creates a white
High silence in the darkness of the night.
Let us too keep our bliss
Secret, every caress,
Love breathe no breath, no word,
Our kisses be unheard, my sighs unheard.


Always dear to me was this lonely hillside
And this wild hedgerow that so far around
Shuts out from sight the distance and horizon.

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