#English #Gays #XXCentury
Our hunting fathers told the story Of the sadness of the creatures, Pitied the limits and the lack Set in their finished features; Saw in the lion’s intolerant look,
Law, say the gardeners, is the sun… Law is the one All gardeners obey To-morrow, yesterday, to-day. Law is the wisdom of the old,
Being set on the idea Of getting to Atlantis, You have discovered of course Only the Ship of Fools is Making the voyage this year,
Chaucer, Langland, Douglas, Dunb… brother Anons, how on earth did yo… without anaesthetics or plumbing, in daily peril from witches, warlo… lepers, The Holy Office, foreign…
They wondered why the fruit had be… It taught them nothing new. They… But did not listen much when they… They knew exactly what to do outsi… They left. Immediately the memory…
All are limitory, but each has her… nuance of damage. The elite can d… are ambulant with a single stick,… to read a book all through, or pla… easy sonatas. (Yet, perhaps their…
You are the town and we are the cl… We are the guardians of the gate i… The Two. On your left and on your right In the day and in the night,
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…
Warm are the still and lucky miles… White shores of longing stretch aw… A light of recognition fills The whole great day, and bright The tiny world of lovers’ arms.
Look, stranger, on this island now The leaping light for your delight… Stand stable here And silent be, That through the channels of the e…
Here war is simple like a monument… A telephone is speaking to a man; Flags on a map assert that troops… A boy brings milk in bowls. There… For living men in terror of their…
The piers are pummelled by the wav… In a lonely field the rain Lashes an abandoned train; Outlaws fill the mountain caves. Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
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,…
My dear one is mine as mirrors are… As the poor and sad are real to th… And the high green hill sits alway… Up jumped the Black Man behind th… Turned a somersault and ran away w…
The underground roads Are, as the dead prefer them, Always tortuous. . . . When he looked the cave in the eye…