#EnglishWriters
Poet, oracle and wit Like unsuccessful anglers by Th ponds of apperception sit, Baiting with the wrong request The vectors of their interest;
Being set on the idea Of getting to Atlantis, You have discovered of course Only the Ship of Fools is Making the voyage this year,
For us like any other fugitive, Like the numberless flowers that c… And all the beasts that need not r… It is today in which we live. So many try to say Not Now,
It’s natural the Boys should whoo… so huge a phallic triumph, an adve… it would not have occurred to wome… to think worth while, made possibl… because we like huddling in gangs…
As the hawk sees it or the helmete… The clouds rift suddenly - look th… At cigarette-end smouldering on a… At the first garden party of the y… Pass on, admire the view of the ma…
Here war is simple like a monument… A telephone is speaking to a man; Flags on a map assert that troops… A boy brings milk in bowls. There… For living men in terror of their…
I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade:
Victor was a little baby, Into this world he came; His father took him on his knee an… 'Don’t dishonour the family name.' Victor looked up at his father
As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat. And down by the brimming river
Taller to-day, we remember similar… Walking together in a windless orc… Where the brook runs over the grav… Nights come bringing the snow, and… Under headlands in their windy dwe…
Looking up at the stars, I know q… That, for all they care, I can go… But on earth indifference is the l… We have to dread from man or beast… How should we like it were stars t…
Let a florid music praise, The flute and the trumpet, Beauty’s conquest of your face: In that land of flesh and bone, Where from citadels on high
The Hidden Law does not deny Our laws of probability, But takes the atom and the star And human beings as they are, And answers nothing when we lie.
Certainly our city with its byres… The river’s edge, its cathedral, i… Here is the cosmopolitan cooking And the light alloys and the glass… Built by the conscience-stricken,…
Some thirty inches from my nose The frontier of my Person goes, And all the untilled air between Is private pagus or demesne. Stranger, unless with bedroom eyes