Haniel Long

(9 March 1888 – 17 October 1956 / Rangoon, Burma)

The Poet - Poem by Haniel Long

I take what never can be taken,
Touch what cannot be;
I wake what never could awaken,
But for me.

I go where only winds are going,
Kiss what fades away;
I know a thing too strange for knowing,
I, the clay.


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Read poems about / on: kiss, wind



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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