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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular of U.S. poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English and tutor composition.

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LXXV, Amoretti

by Edmund Spencer


One day I wrote her name upon the strand, 
But came the waves and washed it away: 
Again I wrote it with a second hand, 
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey. 
"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain assay, 
A mortal thing so to immortalize; 
For I myself shall like to this decay, 
And eke my name be wiped out likewise." 
"Not so," (quod I) "let baser things devise 
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame: 
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize, 
And in the heavens write your glorious name: 
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue, 
Our love shall live, and later life renew." 

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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