#English #XXCentury
How distant, the departure of youn… Down valleys, or watching The green shore past the salt—whit… Rising and falling. Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death It dies in the white hours
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling… A hedgehog jammed up against the b… Killed. It had been in the long g… I had seen it before, and even fed… Now I had mauled its unobtrusive…
When she came on, you couldn’t kee… Fighting your way up through the o… Tup—heavy bumpkin, you confused yo… Fell in the drum —how we went ha h… But once you gained her side and s…
Lambs that learn to walk in snow When their bleating clouds the air Meet a vast unwelcome, know Nothing but a sunless glare. Newly stumbling to and fro
Waiting for breakfast, while she b… I looked down at the empty hotel y… Once meant for coaches. Cobblesto… But sent no light back to the load… Sunk as it was with mist down to t…
Tired of a landscape known too wel… The deliberate shallow hills, the… Flying past rocks; tired of rememb… The village children and their nau… He abandoned his small holding and…
A stationary sense... as, I suppo… I shall have, till my single body… Inaccurate, tired; Then I shall start to feel the ba… Take over, sickening and masterful…
I thought it would last my time— The sense that, beyond the town, There would always be fields and f… Where the village louts could clim… Such trees as were not cut down;
I saw three ships go sailing by, Over the sea, the lifting sea, And the wind rose in the morning s… And one was rigged for a long jour… The first ship turned towards the…
The trumpet’s voice, loud and auth… Draws me a moment to the lighted g… To watch the dancers —all under tw… Solemnly on the beat of happiness. –Or so I fancy, sensing the smoke…
Is it for now or for always, The world hangs on a stalk? Is it a trick or a trysting—place, The woods we have found to walk? Is it a mirage or miracle,
I work all day, and get half-drunk… Waking at four to soundless dark,… In time the curtain-edges will gro… Till then I see what’s really alw… Unresting death, a whole day neare…
Like the train’s beat Swift language flutters the lips Of the Polish airgirl in the corn… The swinging and narrowing sun Lights her eyelashes, shapes
Obedient daily dress, You cannot always keep That unfakable young surface. You must learn your lines — Anger, amusement, sleep;