#EnglishWriters
If grief could burn out Like a sunken coal The heart would rest quiet The unrent soul Be as still as a veil
Choice of you shuts up that peacoc… The future was, in which temptingl… All that elaborative nature can. Matchless potential! but unlimited Only so long as I elected nothing…
She kept her songs, they kept so l… The covers pleased her: One bleached from lying in a sunny… One marked in circles by a vase of… One mended, when a tidy fit had se…
On the day of the explosion Shadows pointed towards the pithea… In the sun the slagheap slept. Down the lane came men in pitboots Coughing oath-edged talk and pipe-…
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
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…
Rain patters on a sea that tilts a… Fast-running floors, collapsing in… Tower suddenly, spray-haired. Con… A wave drops like a wall: another… Wilting and scrambling, tirelessly…
Beyond the dark cartoons Are darker spaces where Small cloudy nests of stars Seem to float on air. These have no proper names:
I feared these present years, The middle twenties, When deftness disappears, And each event is Freighted with a source—encrusting…
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…
On shallow straw, in shadeless gla… Huddled by empty bowls, they sleep… No dark, no dam, no earth, no gras… Mam, get us one of them to keep. Living toys are something novel,
New eyes each year Find old books here, And new books, too, Old eyes renew; So youth and age
To step over the low wall that div… Road from concrete walk above the… Brings sharply back something know… The miniature gaiety of seasides. Everything crowds under the low ho…
Tightly-folded bud, I have wished you something None of the others would: Not the usual stuff About being beautiful,
Why should I let the toad work Squat on my life? Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork And drive the brute off? Six days of the week it soils