#Welsh
—"Poem in October," Dylan Thomas, Poetry, February 1945 As the story goes, the thirty—something Dylan Thomas would only get up in the morning if someone stuffed a beer bottle in his mo...
Hold hard, these ancient minutes i… Under the lank, fourth folly on G… As the green blooms ride upward, t… Time, in a folly’s rider, like a c… Over the vault of ridings with his…
We lying by seasand, watching yell… And the grave sea, mock who deride Who follow the red rivers, hollow Alcove of words out of cicada shad… For in this yellow grave of sand a…
On no work of words now for three… bloody Belly of the rich year and the big… I bitterly take to task my poverty… To take to give is all, return wha…
Waking alone in a multitude of lov… Surprised in the opening of her ni… His golden yesterday asleep upon t… And this day’s sun leapt up the sk… Was miraculous virginity old as lo…
The hand that signed the paper fel… Five sovereign fingers taxed the b… Doubled the globe of dead and halv… These five kings did a king to dea… The mighty hand leads to a sloping…
This day winding down now At God speeded summer’s end In the torrent salmon sun, In my seashaken house On a breakneck of rocks
Never and never, my girl riding fa… In the land of the hearthstone tal… Fear or believe that the wolf in a… Loping and bleating roughly and bl… My dear, my dear,
And death shall have no dominion. Dead men naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the w… When their bones are picked clean… They shall have stars at elbow and…
From love’s first fever to her pla… And the hollow minute of the womb, From the unfolding to the scissore… The time for breast and the green… When no mouth stirred about the ha…
When the morning was waking over t… He put on his clothes and stepped… The locks yawned loose and a blast… He dropped where he loved on the b… And the funeral grains of the slau…
There once was a Square, such a s… And he loved a trim Triangle; But she was a flirt and around her… Vainly she made him dangle. Oh he wanted to wed and he had no…
I, in my intricate image, stride o… Forged in man’s minerals, the bras… Laying my ghost in metal, The scales of this twin world trea… My half ghost in armour hold hard…
Sometimes the sky’s too bright, Or has too many clouds or birds, And far away’s too sharp a sun To nourish thinking of him. Why is my hand too blunt
Was there a time when dancers with… In children’s circuses coul stay t… There was a time they could cry ov… But time has set its maggot on the… Under the arc of the sky they are…