#AmericanWriters
Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time f… And time future contained in time… If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable.
Le garçon délabré qui n’a rien à f… Que de se gratter les doigts et se… ‘Dans mon pays il fera temps plu… Du vent, du grand soleil, et de… C’est ce qu’on appelle le jour d…
“A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long jou… The ways deep and the weather shar… The very dead of winter.”
We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas… Our dried voices, when
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something These matters that with myself I too much discuss Pray f...
Miss Nancy Ellicott Strode across the hills and broke… Rode across the hills and broke th… The barren New England hills — Riding to hounds
THEY are rattling breakfast plat… And along the trampled edges of th… I am aware of the damp souls of ho… Sprouting despondently at area gat… The brown waves of fog toss up to…
En l’an trentiesme do mon aage Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beu… Pipit sate upright in her chair Some distance from where I w… Views of the Oxford Colleges
In my beginning is my end. In suc… Houses rise and fall, crumble, are… Are removed, destroyed, restored,… Is an open field, or a factory, or… Old stone to new building, old tim…
Because I do not hope to turn aga… Because I do not hope Because I do not hope to turn Desiring this man’s gift and that… I no longer strive to strive towar…
Ils ont vu les Pays-Bas, ils rent… Mais une nuit d’été, les voici à… A l’aise entre deux draps, chez de… La sueur aestivale, et une forte o… Ils restent sur le dos écartant le…
Twelve o’clock. Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of memory
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s ca… For he’s the master criminal who c… He’s the bafflement of Scotland Y… For when they reach the scene of c… Macavity, Macavity, there’s no on…
Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blo… The winter sun creeps by the snow… The stubborn season has made stand… My life is light, waiting for the… Like a feather on the back of my h…
The readers of the Boston Evening… Sway in the wind like a field of r… When evening quickens faintly in t… Wakening the appetites of life in… And to others bringing the Boston…