#EnglishWriters
Elves are no smaller than men, and walk as men do, in this world, but with more grace than most, and are not immortal.
"The World is not something to look at, it is something to be in.… Mark Rudman I look and look. Looking’s a way of being: one beco…
Not the moon. A flower on the other side of the water. The water sweeps past in flood, dragging a whole tree by the hair, a barn, a bridge. The flower
That dog with daisies for eyes who flashes forth flame of his very self at every ba… is the Dog of Art. Worked in wool, his blind eyes
A doll’s hair concealing an eggshell skull delicately throbbing, within which maggots in voluptuous unrest jostle and shrug. Oh, Eileen, my
Long after you have swung back away from me I think you are still with me: you come in close to the shore on the tide
Bricks of the wall, so much older than the house - taken I think from a farm pulled d… when the street was built - narrow bricks of another century.
The red eyes of rabbits aren’t sad. No one passes the sad golden village in a barge any more. The sunset will leave it alone. If the
Pale, then enkindled, light advancing, emblazoning summits of palm and pine,
Some people, no matter what you give them, still want the moon. The bread, the salt,
Brilliant, this day ' a young vi… Morning shadow cut by sharpest sci… deft hands. And every prodigy of g… whether it’s ferns or lichens or n… or impatient points of buds on spi…
The tree of knowledge was the tree… That’s why the taste of it drove us from Eden. That fruit was meant to be dried and milled t… for use a pinch at a time, a condi…
Genial poets, pink-faced earnest wits’ you have given the world some choice morsels, gobbets of language presented
A voice from the dark called out, “The poets must give us imagination of peace, to oust the… imagination of disaster. Peace, no… the absence of war.”
Something forgotten for twenty yea… and mothers came from Cordova and… and though I am a citizen of the… stranger here than anywhere else,… I am Essex-born: