#English #Women
Genial poets, pink-faced earnest wits— you have given the world some choice morsels, gobbets of language presented
In the Japanese tongue of the min…
The old wooden steps to the front… where I was sitting that fall morn… when you came downstairs, just awa… and my joy at sight of you (emergi… into golden day—
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:
The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer. The wind blowing, the leaves shivering in the sun,
There’s in my mind a woman of innocence, unadorned but fair-featured and smelling of apples or grass. She wears a utopian smock or shift, her hair
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
A doll’s hair concealing an eggshell skull delicately throbbing, within which maggots in voluptuous unrest jostle and shrug. Oh, Eileen, my
Let me be at the place of the cast… Let the castle be within me. Let it rise foursquare from the mo… Let the moat’s waters reflect gree… the shells of swimming turtles…
O Eros, silently smiling one, hea… Let the shadow of thy wings brush me. Let thy presence enfold me, as if darkness
The authentic! Shadows of it sweep past in dreams, one could sa… evoking the almost-silent ripping apart of giant sheets of cellophane. No.
Brown gas-fog, white beneath the street lamps. Cut off on three sides, all space… with our bodies. Bodies that stumble
Though the road turn at last to death’s ordinary door, and we knock there, ready to enter and it opens easily for us,
I was welcomed here—clear gold of late summer, of opening autumn, the dawn eagle sunning himself on… the mountain revealing herself unc… tinted apricot as she looked west,
The cat is eating the roses: that’s the way he is. Don’t stop him, don’t stop the world going round, that’s the way things are.