#EnglishWriters
When the bare feet of the baby bea… The little white feet nod like whi… They poise and run like ripples la… And the sight of their white play… Is like a little robin’s song, win…
When you went, how was it you carr… My missal book of fine, flamboyant… My book of turrets and of red-thor… And skies of gold, and ladies in b… Now underneath a blue-grey twiligh…
When did you start your tricks Monsieur? What do you stand on such high leg… Why this length of shredded shank You exaltation?
There are only two things now, The great black night scooped out And this fireglow. This fireglow, the core, And we the two ripe pips
Thought, I love thought. But not the juggling and twisting… I despise that self—important game… Thought is the welling up of unkno… Thought is the testing of statemen…
The new red houses spring like pla… In level rows Of reddish herbage that bristles a… Its square shadows. The pink young houses show one sid…
A tiny moon as white and small as… Leans all alone above my window, o… Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft… She shines, the one white love of…
Why does the thin grey strand Floating up from the forgotten Cigarette between my fingers, Why does it trouble me? Ah, you will understand;
Close your eyes, my love, let me m… They have taught you to see Only a mean arithmetic on the face… A cunning algebra in the faces of… And God like geometry
She bade me follow to her garden w… The mellow sunlight stood as in a… Between the old grey walls; I did… To raise my face, I did not dare… Lest her bright eyes like sparrows…
I look at the swaling sunset And wish I could go also Through the red doors beyond the b… I wish that I could go Through the red doors where I cou…
She is large and matronly And rather dirty, A little sardonic—looking, as if d… Though what she does, except lay f… And put up with her husband,
The feelings I don’t have I don’t… The feeling I don’t have, I won’t… The feelings you say you have, you… The feelings you would like us bot… The feelings people ought to have,…
This is the last of all, this is t… I must hold my hands, and turn my… I must watch my dead days fusing t… Shape after shape, and scene after… Fusing to one dead mass in the sin…
The five old bells Are hurrying and eagerly calling, Imploring, protesting They know, but clamorously falling Into gabbling incoherence, never r…
