<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343130" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Cure At Porlock</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">For whatever did it—the cider <br>at the Ship Inn, where the crowd <br>from the bar that night had overflowed <br>singing into Southey’s Corner, or </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>an early warning of appendicitis— <br>the remedy the chemist in the High Street <br>purveyed was still a dose of kaopectate <br>in morphine—the bane and the afflatus </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>of S.T.C. when Alph, the sacred river, <br>surfaced briefly in the unlikely <br>vicinity of Baker Farm, and as quickly <br>sank again, routed forever by the visitor </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>whose business, intent and disposition— <br>whether ill or well is just as immaterial— <br>long ago sunk Lethewards, a particle <br>of the unbottled ultimate solution. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I drank my dose, and after an afternoon <br>prostrate, between heaves, on the <br>coldly purgatorial tiles of the W.C., <br>found it elysium simply to recline, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>sipping flat ginger beer as though it were <br>honeydew, in that billowy bed, <br>under pink chenille, hearing you read <br>The Mystery of Edwin Drood! For whether </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>the opium was worth it for John Jasper, <br>from finding being with you, even sick <br>at Porlock, a rosily addictive picnic, <br>I left less likely ever to recover.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Clampitt">Amy Clampitt</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343130" data-title="A Cure At Porlock de Amy Clampitt" data-description="For whatever did it—the cider at the Ship Inn, where the crowd from the bar that night had overflowed singing into Southey’s Corner, or an early warning of appendicitis— the remedy the chemist in the High Street purveyed was still a ..."></div> </div> </div>

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