The Schooner ‘Flight’ (Derek Walcott Poems)
1 Adios, Carenage In idle August, while the sea soft, and leaves of brown islands stick to the rim of ...
1 Adios, Carenage In idle August, while the sea soft, and leaves of brown islands stick to the rim of ...
After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky, I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's ...
Those five or six young guys lunched on the stoop that oven-hot summer night whistled me over. Nice and friendly. ...
There were still shards of an ancient pastoral in those shires of the island where the cattle drank their pools ...
The last leaves fell like notes from a piano and left their ovals echoing in the ear; with gawky music ...
Schizophrenic, wrenched by two styles, one a hack's hired prose, I earn me exile. I trudge this sickle, moonlit beach ...
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