#EnglishWriters
Light spreads darkly downwards fro… Clusters of lights over empty chai… That face each other, coloured dif… Through open doors, the dining—roo… A larger loneliness of knives and…
Strange to know nothing, never to… Of what is true or right or real, But forced to qualify or so I fee… Or Well, it does seem so: Someone must know.
At last you yielded up the album,… Once open, sent me distracted. Al… Matt and glossy on the thick black… Too much confectionery, too rich: I choke on such nutritious images.
If grief could burn out Like a sunken coal The heart would rest quiet The unrent soul Be as still as a veil
Morning, a glass door, flashes Gold names off the new city, Whose white shelves and domes trav… The slow sky all day. I land to stay here;
I have started to say “A quarter of a century” Or “thirty years back” About my own life. It makes me breathless
I feared these present years, The middle twenties, When deftness disappears, And each event is Freighted with a source—encrusting…
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…
For nations vague as weed, For nomads among stones, Small—statured cross—faced tribes And cobble—close families In mill—towns on dark mornings
Delay, well, travellers must expec… Delay. For how long? No one seems… With all the luggage weighed, the… It can’t be long... We amble too… Sit in steel chairs, buy cigarette…
Slowly the women file to where he… Upright in rimless glasses, silver… Dark suit, white collar. Stewards… Persuade them onwards to his voice… Within whose warm spring rain of l…
I saw three ships go sailing by, Over the sea, the lifting sea, And the wind rose in the morning s… And one was rigged for a long jour… The first ship turned towards the…
Obedient daily dress, You cannot always keep That unfakable young surface. You must learn your lines — Anger, amusement, sleep;
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…
Like the train’s beat Swift language flutters the lips Of the Polish airgirl in the corn… The swinging and narrowing sun Lights her eyelashes, shapes