#EnglishWriters
My world is a painted fresco, wher… Of old, ineffectual lives linger b… An endless tapestry the past has w… The halls of my life, compelling m… The surface of dreams is broken,
As a drenched, drowned bee Hangs numb and heavy from a bendin… So clings to me My baby, her brown hair brushed wi… And laid against her cheek;
There are only two things now, The great black night scooped out And this fireglow. This fireglow, the core, And we the two ripe pips
High and smaller goes the moon, sh… Wistful and candid, watching me wi… Trembling blue in her pallor a tea… A tear which I had hoped that eve…
The profoundest of all sensualitie… is the sense of truth and the next deepest sensual exper… is the sense of justice.
Ah, my darling, when over the purp… The shrouded mother of a new idea,… Cry out and fend her off, as she s… Wounding themselves against her, d…
If you are a man, and believe in t… then say to yourself: we will ceas… about property and money and mecha… and open our consciousness to the… that we are now cut off from.
Love has crept out of her sealéd h… As a field-bee, black and amber, Breaks from the winter-cell, to cl… Up the warm grass where the sunbea… Mischief has come in her dawning e…
Last night a thief came to me And struck at me with something da… I cried, but no one could hear me, I lay dumb and stark. When I awoke this morning
When the bare feet of the baby bea… The little white feet nod like whi… They poise and run like ripples la… And the sight of their white play… Is like a little robin’s song, win…
At the open door of the room I st… Hold my hand to catch the raindrop… Arriving grey from the darkness ab… I will escape from the hollow room… And be out in the bewildering dark…
She is large and matronly And rather dirty, A little sardonic—looking, as if d… Though what she does, except lay f… And put up with her husband,
And who has seen the moon, who has… Her rise from out the chamber of t… Flushed and grand and naked, as fr… Of finished bridegroom, seen her r… Confession of delight upon the wav…
What large, dark hands are those a… Lifted, grasping in the yellow lig… Which makes its way through the cu… At my heart to—night? Ah, only the leaves! So leave me…
The quick sparks on the gorse—bush… Little jets of sunlight texture im… Above them, exultant, the peewits… They have triumphed again o’er the… Rabbits, handfuls of brown earth,…