This Be The Verse (Philip Larkin Poem)
They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with ...
They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with ...
I PRELUDE Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that last night When, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight, She knew her ...
Expectation -- is Contentment -- Gain -- Satiety -- But Satiety -- Conviction Of Necessity Of an Austere trait in ...
In these quiet moments before the night softens the mountains of the South and deflates the clouds that float beneath ...
1 On Linden, when the sun was low, 2 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 3 And dark as winter ...
See how her hair has thinned: it does not seem / like hair at all, but like the airy moult ...
The day begins to droop,-- Its course is done: But nothing tells the place Of the setting sun. The hazy ...
(France -- Ancient Regime.) I. Go away! Go away; I will not confess to you! His black biretta clings like ...
I shall go away To the brown hills, the quiet ones, The vast, the mountainous, the rolling, Sun-fired and drowsy! ...
An imaginary composer.] I. Hist, but a word, fair and soft! Forth and be judged, Master Hugues! Answer the question ...
Pellam the King, who held and lost with Lot In that first war, and had his realm restored But rendered ...
Deep on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapour goes; May my ...
For God has given us a language of monosyllables to prevent our clipping. For a toad enjoys a finer prospect ...
THE partial Muse, has from my earliest hours, Smil'd on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread, And still with ...
If you leave the gloom of London and you seek a glowing land, Where all except the flag is strange ...
Before those cruel twins whom at one birth Incestuous Change bore to her father Time, Error and Truth, had hunted ...
Now as the train bears west, Its rhythm rocks the earth, And from my Pullman berth I stare into the ...
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in ...
Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward, Couched with her arms behind her golden head, Knees and tresses folded to ...
I will think no more of the sea! Of the big green waves And the hollowed shore, Of the brown ...
"Hill of Jews," says one, named for a cemetery long gone."Hill of Jove," says another, and maybe Jove stalked here ...
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