#EnglishWriters
Fret the nonchalant noon With your spleen Or your gay brow, For the motion of your spirit Ever moves with these.
IN THE WORKSHOP Dim watery lights gleaming on gibb… Faces speechful, barren of soul an… Huddled and chewing a jest, lewd a… insidious:
God’s mercy shines ; And our full hearts must make reco… For grief that burst from out its… Into strange sunlit bliss. I stood where glowed
In his malodorous brain what slugs… Lanthorned in his oblique eyes, gu… His body lodged a rat where men nu… The world flashed grape-green eyes… To him. On fragments of an old sh…
The darkness crumbles away It is the same old druid Time as… Only a live thing leaps my hand, A queer sardonic rat, As I pull the parapet’s poppy
Grotesque and queerly huddled Contortionists to twist The sleepy soul to a sleep, We lie all sorts of ways And cannot sleep.
The plunging limbers over the shat… Racketed with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thor… And the rusty stakes like sceptres… To stay the flood of brutish men
Wan, fragile faces of joy, Pitiful mouths that strive To light with smiles the place We dream we walk alive, To you I stretch my hands,
Streaked with immortal blasphemies… Betwixt His twin eternities The Shaper of mortal destinies Sits in that limbo of dreamless sl… Some nothing that hath shadows dee…
Crazed shadows, from no golden bod… That I can see, embrace me warm ; All is purple and closed Round by night’s arm. A brilliance wings from dark-lit v…
The free fair life that has never… If I were what you seem to be and… I know I walk upon the earth, but… My spirit and your spirit lies, yo… The angels that lie watching us, t…
Call-call—and bruise the air: Shatter dumb space! Yea! We will ding this passion ev… Leaving no place For the superb and grave
A worm fed on the heart of Corint… Babylon and Rome: Not Paris raped tall Helen, But this incestuous worm, Who lured her vivid beauty
O tender first cold flush of rose, O budded dawn, wake dreamily ; Your dim lips as your lids unclose Murmur your own sad threnody. 0 as the soft and frail lights bre…
My days are but the tombs of burie… Which tombs are hidden in the pile… But from the mounds there spring u… Whose beauty well repays their cos… Time, like a sexton, pileth mould…