#English
Failing sometimes to understand Why there are folk whose flesh sho… Like carrion puffed with noisome s… Fly-blown to the eye that looks on… Fly-blown to the touch of a hand;
In the middle of countries, far fr… Are the little places one passes b… And never stops at; where the skie… Uninterrupted, and the level plain… Stretch green and yellow and green…
Noon with a depth of shadow beneat… Shakes in the heat, quivers to the… Half shaded, half sunlit, a great… Glistens purple and golden: the fl… Cool in their panniers of snow: si…
Darkness had stretched its colour, Deep blue across the pane: No cloud to make night duller, No moon with its tarnish stain; But only here and there a star,
I am not one of those who sip, Like a quotidian bock, Cheap idylls from a languid lip Prepared to yawn or mock. I wait the indubitable word,
Spring is past and over these many… Spring and summer. The leaves of… Yellowing afid all but dead on the… Nor is there any hope in me. I wa… Slowly homeward. Night is as empt…
HOW clear under the trees, How softly the music flows, Rippling from one still pool to an… Into the lake of silence.
The stars are golden instants in t… Flawless expanse of night: the moo… The river sleeps, entranced, a smo… Seeming so motionless that I forg… The hollow booming bridges, where…
Sitting on the top of the 'bus, I bite my pipe and look at the sky… Over my shoulder the smoke streams… And my life with it. “Conservation of energy,” you say.
Once more the windless days are he… Quiet of autumn, when the year Halts and looks backward and draws… Before it plunges into death. Silver of mist and gossamers,
I had remarked—how sharply one obs… When life is disappearing round th… Of yet another corner, out of sigh… I had remarked when it was “good l… And “a good journey to you,” on he…
I am getting on well with this ane… When suddenly I recall The many times I have told it of… And all the worked-up phrases, and… Of voice, well timed in the crisis…
My green aquarium of phantom fish, Goggling in on me through the mist… My rotting leaves and fields spong… My few clear quiet autumn days—I… I could leave all, clearness and m…
Instants in the quiet, small sharp… Pierce my spirit with a thrust who… Baffles even the grasp of time. Oh that I might reflect them As swiftly, as keenly as they shin…
Evenings in trains, When the little black twittering g… Along the brims of cuttings, Against the luminous sky, Interrupt with their hurrying rumo…