#EnglishWriters
Talking in bed ought to be easiest… Lying together there goes back so… An emblem of two people being hone… Yet more and more time passes sile… Outside the wind’s incomplete unre…
When I was a child, I thought, Casually, that solitude Never needed to be sought. Something everybody had, Like nakedness, it lay at hand,
The trumpet’s voice, loud and auth… Draws me a moment to the lighted g… To watch the dancers —all under tw… Solemnly on the beat of happiness. –Or so I fancy, sensing the smoke…
Tired of a landscape known too wel… The deliberate shallow hills, the… Flying past rocks; tired of rememb… The village children and their nau… He abandoned his small holding and…
Home is so sad. It stays as it wa… Shaped in the comfort of the last… As if to win them back. Instead,… Of anyone to please, it withers so… Having no heart to put aside the t…
That Whitsun, I was late getting… Not till about One—twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three—quarters—empty train… All windows down, all cushions hot…
About twenty years ago Two girls came in where I worked— A bosomy English rose And her friend in specs I could t… Faces in those days sparked
Boys dream of native girls who bri… Whatever they are, As bribes to teach them how to exe… Sixteen sexual positions on the sa… This makes them join (the boys) th…
What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in:
For nations vague as weed, For nomads among stones, Small—statured cross—faced tribes And cobble—close families In mill—towns on dark mornings
After comparing lives with you for… I see how I’ve been losing: all t… I’ve met a different gauge of girl… Grant that, and all the rest makes… My mortification at your pushovers…
At one the wind rose, And with it the noise Of the black poplars. Long since had the living By a thin twine
Beyond the dark cartoons Are darker spaces where Small cloudy nests of stars Seem to float on air. These have no proper names:
How distant, the departure of youn… Down valleys, or watching The green shore past the salt—whit… Rising and falling. Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Swerving east, from rich industria… And traffic all night north; swerv… Too thin and thistled to be called… And now and then a harsh—named hal… Workmen at dawn; swerving to solit…