At Grass (Philip Larkin Poem)
The eye can hardly pick them out From the cold shade they shelter in, Till wind distresses tail and main; ...
The eye can hardly pick them out From the cold shade they shelter in, Till wind distresses tail and main; ...
'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed The whole time he was at the Bodies, till They moved him.' Flowered ...
For whom the possessed sea littered, on both shores, Ruinous arms; being fired, and for good, To sound the constitution ...
In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur, I had a vision once - though you understand It was ...
The snap of the apple fresh-picked from the orchard the juices, sticky, drizzling down in my beard the bumblebees humming ...
The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; 'T was half-past twelve, and (what ...
A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master, With doors that none but the wind ever closes, Its floor all ...
A stranger came to the door at eve, And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in ...
(The Dry Salvages-presumably les trois sauvages-is a small group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape ...
She sweeps with many-colored Brooms -- And leaves the Shreds behind -- Oh Housewife in the Evening West -- Come ...
To say we've done it all before is not to bend the truth and though we've lost our youth the ...
a novel by Richard Brautigan THE COVER FOR TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA The cover for Trout Fishing in America is ...
At low tide like this how sheer the water is. White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and ...
Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares With purple lights in the canyoned street. The fiery sign on ...
In the dark and damp of the alley cold, Lay the Christmas tree that hadn't been sold; By a shopman ...
I shall never get you put together entirely, Pieced, glued, and properly jointed. Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles Proceed from ...
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers. When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember, Me, sitting here bored ...
I Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . . Wearied we keep awake ...
I. At last; so this is you, my dear! How should I guess to find you here? So long, so ...
Here in February, the fine dark branches of the almond begin to sprout tiny clusters of leaves, sticky to the ...
This harpie with dry red curls talked openly of her husband, his impotence, his death, the death of her lover, ...
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