#EnglishWriters
Unrhymed, unrhythmical, the chatte… Yet no one hears his own remarks a… Beneath each topic tunelessly disc… The ground-bass is reciprocal mist… The names in fashion shuttling to…
Did you ever hear about Cocaine L… She lived in Cocaine town on Coca… She had a cocaine dog and a cocain… They fought all night with a cocai… She had cocaine hair on her cocain…
If all a top physicist knows About the Truth be true, Then, for all the so-and-so’s, Futility and grime, Our common world contains,
Ours yet not ours, being set apart As a shrine to friendship, Empty and silent most of the year, This room awaits from you What you alone, as visitor, can br…
Some thirty inches from my nose The frontier of my Person goes, And all the untilled air between Is private pagus or demesne. Stranger, unless with bedroom eyes
Certainly our city with its byres… The river’s edge, its cathedral, i… Here is the cosmopolitan cooking And the light alloys and the glass… Built by the conscience-stricken,…
Looking up at the stars, I know q… That, for all they care, I can go… But on earth indifference is the l… We have to dread from man or beast… How should we like it were stars t…
Carry her over the water, And set her down under the tree, Where the culvers white all days a… And the winds from every quarter, Sing agreeably, agreeably, agreeab…
He looked in all His wisdom from… Down on that humble boy who kept t… And sent a dove; the dove returned… Youth liked the music, but soon fe… But He had planned such future fo…
This is the night mail crossing th… Bringing the cheque and the postal… Letters for the rich, letters for… The shop at the corner, the girl n… Pulling up Beattock, a steady cli…
We, too, had known golden hours When body and soul were in tune, Had danced with our true loves By the light of a full moon, And sat with the wise and good
I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade:
As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat. And down by the brimming river
Each lover has some theory of his… About the difference between the a… Of being with his love, and being… Why what, when dreaming, is dear f… That really stirs the senses, when…
Give me a doctor partridge-plump, Short in the leg and broad in the… An endomorph with gentle hands Who’ll never make absurd demands That I abandon all my vices