#English
When we were building Skua Light— The first men who had lived a nigh… Upon that deep-sea Isle— As soon as chisel touched the ston… The friendly seals would come asho…
Two rows of cabbages, Two of curly-greens Two rows of early peas, Two of kidney beans. That’s what he keeps muttering,
The biggest crane on earth, it lif… Two hundred ton more easily Than I can lift my heavy head: And when it swings, the whole worl… Or so, at least, it seems to me,
AS I was marching in Flanders A ghost kept step with me— Kept step with me and chuckled And muttered ceaselessly: “Once I too marched in Flanders,
All day beneath the hurtling shell… Before my burning eyes Hover the dainty demoiselles— The peacock dragon-flies. Unceasingly they dart and glance
Who is that woman, Philip, standi… Before the mirror doing up her hai… You’re dreaming, Phœbe, or the mo… Mixing and mingling with the dying… Makes shapes out of the darkness,…
THOUGH three men dwell on Flann… To keep the lamp alight, As we steered under the lee, we ca… No glimmer through the night.” A passing ship at dawn had brought
“I cannot quite remember.... Ther… Dropt dead beside me in the trench… Whispered their dying messages to… Back from the trenches, more dead… Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a b…
Dark waters into crystalline brill… About the keel, as through the moo… The dark ship moves in its own mov… Of phosphorescent cold moon-colour… And to the clear horizon, all arou…
WHEN up the fretful, creaking st… From floor to floor I creep On tiptoe, lest I wake from their… The unknown lodgers lying, layer o…
HE wears a red rose in his button… A city-clerk on Sunday dining out… And as the music surges over the d… The heady quavering of the violin Sings through his blood, and puts…
He strikes a match– and instantly The lovely flower of light, The little flame of life in the va… Blossoming on the dead stick, fill… With something of a child’s surpri…
I could not understand the sudden… The sudden darkness—in the crash o… The din and glare of day quenched… In utter starless night. I lay an age and idly gazed at not…
And since he rowed his father home… His hand has never touched an oar. All day he wanders on the shore, And hearkens to the swishing foam. Though blind from birth, he still…
In smoky lamplight of a Smyrna Ca… He saw them, seven solemn negroes… With faces rapt and out-thrust bel… In a slow solemn ceremonial cakewa… Dancing and prancing to the sombre…
