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Interior with Ida in a White Chair, by Vilhelm Hammershøi
Philip Larkin

Philip Larkin

Days

What are days for?
Days are where we live.  
They come, they wake us  
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:  
Where can we live but days?
 
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor  
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

#English #XXCentury

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Altre opere di Philip Larkin...
Skin

Obedient daily dress, You cannot always keep That unfakable young surface. You must learn your lines — Anger, amusement, sleep;
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Room in Brooklyn, by Edward Hopper
Home Is So Sad

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…
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Homage to a Government

Next year we are to bring all the… For lack of money, and it is all r… Places they guarded, or kept order… We want the money for ourselves at… Instead of working. And this is a…
Friday Night at the Royal Station Hotel

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…
Next, Please

Always too eager for the future, w… Pick up bad habits of expectancy. Something is always approaching; e… Till then we say, Watching from a bluff the tiny, cl…
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Counting

Thinking in terms of one Is easily done— One room, one bed, one chair, One person there, Makes perfect sense; one set
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Nothing to Be Said

For nations vague as weed, For nomads among stones, Small—statured cross—faced tribes And cobble—close families In mill—towns on dark mornings
Cut Grass

Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death It dies in the white hours
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Man Reading (Nicola d’Inverno), by John Singer Sargent
Maturity

A stationary sense... as, I suppo… I shall have, till my single body… Inaccurate, tired; Then I shall start to feel the ba… Take over, sickening and masterful…
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Moonlit Night on the Dniepr, by Arkhip Kuindzhi
Going

There is an evening coming in Across the fields, one never seen… That lights no lamps. Silken it seems at a distance, yet When it is drawn up over the knees…
Like the Train's Beat

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
Dockery and Son

‘Dockery was junior to you, Wasn’t he?’ said the Dean. ‘His s… Death-suited, visitant, I nod. ‘A… You keep in touch with—’ Or remem… Black-gowned, unbreakfasted, and s…
At the Moulin Rouge: The Dance, by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec
Vers de Société

My wife and I have asked a crowd… To come and waste their time and o… You’d care to join us? In a pig’s… Day comes to an end. The gas fire breathes, the trees a…
When First We Faced, and Touching Showed

When first we faced, and touching… How well we knew the early moves, Behind the moonlight and the frost… The excitement and the gratitude, There stood how much our meeting o…
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The Sunday Sessions: MCMXIV (1914)

Those long uneven lines Standing as patiently As if they were stretched outside The Oval or Villa Park, The crowns of hats, the sun



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