#English #XXCentury
White flabbiness goes brown and le… Dumpling arms are now brass bars, They’ve learnt to suffer and live… And to think below the stars. They’ve steeled a tender, girlish…
Not to sleep all the night long, f… Counting no sheep and careless of… Welcoming the dawn confabulation Of birds, her children, who discus… Fanciful details of the promised c…
Cherries of the night are riper Than the cherries pluckt at noon Gather to your fairy piper When he pipes his magic tune: Merry, merry,
Children born of fairy stock Never need for shirt or frock, Never want for food or fire, Always get their hearts desire: Jingle pockets full of gold,
Mother: Alice, dear, what ails yo… Dazed and white and shaken? Has the chill night numbed you? Is it fright you have taken? Alice: Mother I am very well,
Come close to me, dear Annie, whi… A tale of burning love between a k… The pot was stalwart iron and the… And though their sides were black… Forget that kettle, Jamie, and th…
Cronos the Ruddy, steer your boat Toward Silver Island whence we si… Here you shall pass your days. Through a thick—growing alder—wood We clearly see, but are not seen,
Under this loop of honeysuckle, A creeping, coloured caterpillar, I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn sp… I nibble it leaf by leaf away. Down beneath grow dandelions,
Here in turn succeed and rule Carter, smith, and village fool, Then again the place is known As tavern, shop, and Sunday—schoo… Now somehow it’s come to me
The vague sea thuds against the ma… And from their fragments age-long… Pebbles like flowers. Or the vague weather wanders in th… And up spring flowers with coloure…
Nine of the clock, oh! Wake my lazy head! Your shoes of red morocco, Your silk bed—gown: Rouse, rouse, speck—eyed Mary
To you who’d read my songs of War And only hear of blood and fame, I’ll say (you’ve heard it said bef… “War’s Hell!” and if you doubt th… Today I found in Mametz Wood
Why have such scores of lovely, gi… Married impossible men? Simple self—sacrifice may be ruled… And missionary endeavour, nine tim… Repeat “impossible men”: not merel…
Call it a good marriage — For no one ever questioned Her warmth, his masculinity, Their interlocking views; Except one stray graphologist
Four collier lads from Ebbw Vale Took shelter from a shower of hail… And there beneath a spreading tree Attuned their mouths to harmony. With smiling joy on every face