#EnglishWriters
She is large and matronly And rather dirty, A little sardonic—looking, as if d… Though what she does, except lay f… And put up with her husband,
A YELLOW leaf from the darkness Hops like a frog before me. Why should I start and stand stil… I was watching the woman that bore… Stretched in the brindled darkness
The profoundest of all sensualitie… is the sense of truth and the next deepest sensual exper… is the sense of justice.
When did you start your tricks Monsieur? What do you stand on such high leg… Why this length of shredded shank You exaltation?
MANY roses in the wind Are tapping at the window-sash. A hawk is in the sky; his wings Slowly begin to plash. The roses with the west wind rappi…
Butterfly, the wind blows sea—ward… strong beyond the garden—wall! Butterfly, why do you settle on my shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe, Lifting your veined wings, lifting…
As we live, we are transmitters of… And when we fail to transmit life,… That is part of the mystery of sex… Sexless people transmit nothing. And if, as we work, we can transmi…
Reject me not if I should say to… I do forget the sounding of your v… I do forget your eyes that searchi… The mists perceive our marriage, a… Yet, when the apple—blossom opens…
The stars that open and shut Fall on my shallow breast Like stars on a pool. The soft wind, blowing cool Laps little crest after crest
On he goes, the little one, Bud of the universe, Pediment of life. Setting off somewhere, apparently. Whither away, brisk egg?
The glimmer of the limes, sun-heav… Goes trembling past me up the Col… Below, the lawn, in soft blue shad… The daisy-froth quiescent, softly… Beyond the leaves that overhang th…
The feelings I don’t have I don’t… The feeling I don’t have, I won’t… The feelings you say you have, you… The feelings you would like us bot… The feelings people ought to have,…
When the autumn roses Are heavy with dew, Before the mist discloses The leaf’s brown hue, You would, among the laughing hill…
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is si… Taking me back down the vista of y… A child sitting under the piano, i… And pressing the small, poised fee… In spite of myself, the insidious…