#English
Hate in the world’s hand Can carve and set its seal Like the strong blast of sand Which cuts into steel. I have seen how the finger of hate
As I was lying in my bed I heard the church-bell ring; Before one solemn word was said A bird began to sing. I heard a dog begin to bark
Beauty has a tarnished dress, And a patchwork cloak of cloth Dipped deep in mournfulness, Striped like a moth. Wet grass where it trails
If we must cheat ourselves with an… Then let it be a dream of noblenes… Since it is necessary to express Gall from black grapes—to sew an e… With a rusty needle—chase a spurio…
Here’s a wonderful thing, A humming-bird’s wing In hammered gold, And store well chosen Of snowflakes frozen
Man, the egregious egoist (In mystery the twig is bent) Imagines, by some mental twist, That he alone is sentient Of the intolerable load
She has danced for leagues and lea… Over thorns and thistles, Prancing to a tune of Griegg’s Performed on willow whistles. Antelopes behold her, dazed,
The old moon is tarnished With smoke of the flood, The dead leaves are varnished With colour like blood. A treacherous smiler
Within my house of patterned horn I sleep in such a bed As men may keep before they’re bor… And after when they’re dead. Sticks and stones may break their…
Stripping an almond tree in flower The wise apothecary’s skill A single drop of lethal power From perfect sweetness can distill From bitterness in efflorescence,
You are a rose, but set with sharp… You are a pretty bird that pecks a… You are a little squirrel on a tre… Pelting me with the prickly fruit… A diamond, torn from a crystal min…
When foxes eat the last gold grape… And the last white antelope is kil… I shall stop fighting and escape Into a little house I’ll build. But first I’ll shrink to fairy si…
First Traveller: What’s that lyin… Second Traveller: A crooked stick… First Traveller: What’s it worth,… Second Traveller: Isn’t this a ri… First Traveller: No, a trick.
Now let no charitable hope Confuse my mind with images Of eagle and of antelope: I am by nature none of these. I was, being human, born alone;
Poets make pets of pretty, docile… I love smooth words, like gold-ena… Which circle slowly with a silken… And tender ones, like downy-feathr… Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed d…