#EnglishWriters
Still life, still life ... the hig… Hard and sharp on the bottles: the… Stands firmly solid in the glasses… Smooth yellow ice, through which t… The lamp’s bright pencil of down-s…
Her eyes of bright unwinking glaze All imperturbable do not Even make pretences to regard The justing absence of her stays, Where many a Tyrian gallipot
There is a country in my mind, Lovelier than a poet blind Could dream of, who had never know… This world of drought and dust and… In all its ugliness: a place
At your mouth, white and milk-warm… I taste a strange apocalypse: Your subtle taper finger-tips Weave me new heavens, yet, methink… I know the wiles and each iynx
I had been sitting alone with book… Till doubt was a black disease, When I heard the cheerful shout o… In the bare, prophetic trees. Bare trees, prophetic of new birth…
The stars are golden instants in t… Flawless expanse of night: the moo… The river sleeps, entranced, a smo… Seeming so motionless that I forg… The hollow booming bridges, where…
All fly—yet who is misanthrope?— The actual men and things that pas… Jostling, to wither as the grass So soon: and (be it heaven’s hope, Or poetry’s kaleidoscope,
Dear absurd child—too dear to my c… God made your soul for pleasure, n… It cleaves no way, but angled broa… Impinges with a slabby-bellied sou… Full upon life, and on the rind of…
There had been phantoms, pale-reme… Of this and this occasion, sisterl… In their resemblances, each effigy Crowned with the same bright hair… White rounded firmness, and each b…
We judge by appearance merely: If I can’t think strangely, I can… So I grew the hair so long on my… That my mother wouldn’t know me, Till a woman in a night-club said,
While I have been fumbling over b… And thinking about God and the De… Other young men have been battling… And others have been kissing the b… They have brazen faces like batter…
Books and a coloured skein of thou… And magic words lay ripening in my… Till their much-whispered music tu… Whose subtlest power was all in my… These things were mine, and they w…
Shepherd, to yon tall poplars tune… Let them pierce, keenly, subtly sh… The slow blue rumour of the hill; Let the grass cry with an anguish… And the great sky be mute.
Instants in the quiet, small sharp… Pierce my spirit with a thrust who… Baffles even the grasp of time. Oh that I might reflect them As swiftly, as keenly as they shin…
My close-walled soul has never kno… That innermost darkness, dazzling… Like the blind point, whence the v… In the core of the gazer’s chrysol… The mystic darkness that laps God…