Dream Song 72: The Elder Presences (John Berryman Poem)
Shh! on a twine hung from disastered trees Henry is swinging his daughter. They seem drunk. Over across them look ...
Shh! on a twine hung from disastered trees Henry is swinging his daughter. They seem drunk. Over across them look ...
Bats have no bankers and they do not drink and cannot be arrested and pay no tax and, in general, ...
He published his girl's bottom in staid pages of an old weekly. Where will next his rages ridiculous Henry land? ...
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves ...
Oh destiny of Borges to have sailed across the diverse seas of the world or across that single and solitary ...
THOU, O my Grief, be wise and tranquil still, The eve is thine which even now drops down, To carry ...
LEAVE me a little while alone, Here at his grave that still is strown With crumbling flower and wreath; The ...
Well, as you say, we live for small horizons: We move in crowds, we flow and talk together, Seeing so ...
He Fill your bowl with roses: the bowl, too, have of crystal. Sit at the western window. Take the sun ...
Doleful was the land, Dull on, every side, Neither soft n'or grand, Barren, bleak, and wide; Nothing look'd with love; ...
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born; Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as ...
Part in peace: is day before us? Praise His Name for life and light; Are the shadows lengthening o'er us? ...
I have a life that did not become, that turned aside and stopped, astonished: I hold it in me like ...
I have become very hairy all over my body. I'm afraid they'll start hunting me because of my fur. My ...
'Not by the justice that my father spurn'd, Not for the thousands whom my father slew, Altars unfed and temples ...
Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts All meaning from a name! White houses prank where once were huts. Glion, but not ...
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of ...
Hark! ah, the nightingale- The tawny-throated! Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark!-what pain! O wanderer ...
As the kindling glances, Queen-like and clear, Which the bright moon lances From her tranquil sphere At the sleepless waters ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
I LEFT thee last, a child at heart, A woman scarce in years: I come to thee, a solemn corpse ...
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