The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema (Conrad Aiken Poem)
As evening falls, The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving, ...
As evening falls, The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving, ...
He, in the room above, grown old and tired, She, in the room below-his floor her ceiling- Pursue their separate ...
Now, when the moon slid under the cloud And the cold clear dark of starlight fell, He heard in his ...
Well, as you say, we live for small horizons: We move in crowds, we flow and talk together, Seeing so ...
Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind announces autumn, and the equinox rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. ...
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow, to the short day and to the whitening hills, when ...
Walking is like imagination, a single step dissolves the circle into motion; the eye here and there rests on a ...
I have a life that did not become, that turned aside and stopped, astonished: I hold it in me like ...
Far from the Rappahannock, the silent Danube moves along toward the sea. The brown and green Nile rolls slowly Like ...
What name do I have for you? Certainly there is not name for you In the sense that the stars ...
As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as ...
We smile at each other and I lean back against the wicker couch. How does it feel to be dead? ...
Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected - I shared all this with my own people There, where ...
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain; To run the twelvemonth's length again: I see, the old bald-pated fellow, With ...
WHILE at the stook the shearers cow'r To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, Or in gulravage rinnin scowr To pass ...
I mind me in the days departed, How often underneath the sun With childish bounds I used to run To ...
Thou fair hair'd angel of the evening, Now, while the sun rests on the mountains light, Thy bright torch of ...
and the sun weilds mercy but like a jet torch carried to high, and the jets whip across its sight ...
these things that we support most well have nothing to do with up, and we do with them out of ...
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer night, running the blade of the knife under his fingernails, ...
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