Then Was My Neophyte (Dylan Thomas Poems)
Then was my neophyte,Child in white blood bent on its kneesUnder the bell of rocks,Ducked in the twelve, disciple seasThe ...
Then was my neophyte,Child in white blood bent on its kneesUnder the bell of rocks,Ducked in the twelve, disciple seasThe ...
Death slays the moon and the long dark deepens,Hastens to the city, to the drear stone-heaps,Films all eyes and whispers ...
430It would never be Common-more-I said-Difference-had begun-Many a bitterness-had been-But that old sort-was done-Or-if it sometime-showed-as 'twill-Upon the Downiest-Morn-Such bliss-had ...
If I could frame for you in cunning wordsThe songs my heart in sleep is often singing,You'd fancy, love, an ...
When life as opening buds is sweet, And golden hopes the fancy greet,And Youth prepares his joys to meet,—Alas! how ...
854Banish Air from Air -Divide Light if you dare -They'll meetWhile Cubes in a DropOr Pellets of ShapeFitFilms cannot annulOdors ...
O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm! All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm, And shadowy, through ...
When, darkly brooding on this Modern Age, The journalist with his marketable woes Fills up once more the inevitable page ...
When I behold a forest spread With silken trees upon thy head; And when I see that other dress Of ...
Dunes of white greet my gaze from my office window snow drifted in the lee of the third story, the ...
Maybe those who believe A piece of your soul Is stolen with each photograph taken Are right Reflecting back over ...
It would never be Common -- more -- I said -- Difference -- had begun -- Many a bitterness -- ...
Banish Air from Air -- Divide Light if you dare -- They'll meet While Cubes in a Drop Or Pellets ...
He lay in the middle of the world, and twicht. More Sparine for Pelides, human (half) & down here as ...
Henry is old, old; for Henry remembers Mr Deeds' tuba, & the Cameo, & the race in Ben Hur,â?"The Lost ...
"Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such a one as thyself." (David, Psalms 50.21) ['Will sprawl, now that the heat ...
I was never a film buff, give me Widmark and Wayne any day Saturday matin?es with Margaret Gardener still hold ...
Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its knees Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the ...
When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more, And waves of golden glory break adown the ...
I The arts are old, old as the stones From which man carved the sphinx austere. Deep are the days ...
What time I paced, at pleasant morn, A deep and dewy wood, I heard a mellow hunting-horn Make dim report ...
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