Seasons Of The Soul (Allen Tate Poems)
To the memory of John Peale Bishop, 1892-1944Attor porsi la mano un poco avante,e colsi un ramicel da un gran ...
To the memory of John Peale Bishop, 1892-1944Attor porsi la mano un poco avante,e colsi un ramicel da un gran ...
Not yet the thirtieth year, the thirtiethStation where time reverses his light heelsTo rim both ways, and makes of forward ...
An old soldier on the night before the veteransreunion talks partly to himself, partly to imaginary comrades:The people-people of my ...
Row after row with strict impunityThe headstones yield their names to the element,The wind whirs without recollection;In the riven troughs ...
Cats walk the floor at midnight; that enemy of fog,The moon, wraps the bedpost in receding stillness; sleepCollects all weary ...
To Andrew LytleParis, November 1929Their faces are bony and sharp but very red, althoughtheir ancestors nearly two hundred years have ...
An After-Dinner SpeechI rise, gentlemen, it is the pleasant hour.Darkness falls. The night falls. ...
Now all day long the man who is not deadHastens the dark with inattentive eyes,The woman with white hand and ...
Alice grown lazy, mammoth but not fat,Declines upon her lost and twilight age;Above in the dozing leaves the grinning catQuivers ...
There are wolves in the next room waitingWith heads bent low, thrust out, breathingAt nothing in the dark; between them ...
When little boys grown patient at last, weary,Surrender their eyes immeasurably to the night,The event will rage terrific as the ...
Jefferson Davis: 1808-1889No more the white refulgent streets.Never the dry hollows of the mindShall he in fine courtesy walkAgain, for ...
In the twilight of my audacityI saw you flee the world, the burnt highwaysOf summer gave up their light: IFollowed ...
Say never the strong heartIn the consuming breathCries out unto the darkThe skinny death.Look! whirring on the rindOf aether a ...
The moon will run all consciences to cover,Night is now the easy peer of day;Little boys no longer sight the ...
When the night's coming and the last light fallsA weak child among lost shadows on the floor,It is your listening: ...
(From the French of Charles Baudelaire)All nature is a temple where the alivePillars breathe often a tremor of mixed words;Man ...
If thine eye offend thee, pluck it outIf your tired unspeaking headRivet the dark with linear sight,Crazed by a warlock ...
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