#EnglishWriters
I did not pluck at all, And I am sorry now: The garden is not barred But the boughs are heavy with snow… The flake-blossoms thickly fall
I killed them, but they would not… Yea! all the day and all the night For them I could not rest or slee… Nor guard from them nor hide in fl… Then in my agony I turned
A silver rose to show Is your sweet face; And like the heavens’ white brow, Sometime God’s battle-place, Your blood is quiet now.
Streaked with immortal blasphemies… Betwixt His twin eternities The Shaper of mortal destinies Sits in that limbo of dreamless sl… Some nothing that hath shadows dee…
Ah, Koelue! Had you embalmed your beauty, so It could not backward go, Or change in any way, What were the use, if on my eyes
If you are fire and I am fire, Who blows the flame apart So that desire eludes desire Around one central heart? A single root and separate bough,
I love you, great new Titan! Am I not you? Napoleon or Caesar Out of you grew. Out of the unthinkable torture,
Girl To A Soldier On Leave Love! You love me ' your eyes Have looked through death at mine. You have tempted a grave too much I let you ' I repine.
As the pregnant womb of night Thrills with imprisoned light, Misty, nebulous-born, Growing deeper into her morn, So man, with no sudden stride,
My eyes catch ruddy necks Sturdily pressed back - All a red brick moving glint. Like flaming pendulums, hands Swing across the khaki -
Wan, fragile faces of joy, Pitiful mouths that strive To light with smiles the place We dream we walk alive, To you I stretch my hands,
Space beats the ruddy freedom of t… Their naked dances with man’s spir… By the root side of the tree of li… (The under side of things And shut from earth’s profoundest…
IN THE WORKSHOP Dim watery lights gleaming on gibb… Faces speechful, barren of soul an… Huddled and chewing a jest, lewd a… insidious:
She bade us listen to the singing… In tones far sweeter than its own: For fear that she should cease and… We built the bird a feigned throne… Shrined in her gracious glory-givi…
Through these pale cold days What dark faces burn Out of three thousand years, And their wild eyes yearn, While underneath their brows