All That I Owe The Fellows Of The Grave (Dylan Thomas Poems)
All that I owe the fellows of the grave And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates Lies in the ...
All that I owe the fellows of the grave And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates Lies in the ...
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage ...
Now Say nay, Man dry man, Dry lover mine The deadrock base and blow the flowered anchor, Should he, for ...
Lie still, sleep becalmed, sufferer with the wound In the throat, burning and turning. All night afloat On the silent ...
I Half of the fellow father as he doubles His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk, Half of the fellow ...
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass ...
I have longed to move away From the hissing of the spent lie And the old terrors' continual cry Growing ...
(for Llewelyn) This side of the truth, You may not see, my son, King of your blue eyes In the ...
How shall my animal Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull, Vessel of abscesses and exultation's shell, Endure ...
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound ...
In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie ...
The bows glided down, and the coast Blackened with birds took a last look At his thrashing hair and whale-blue ...
Should lanterns shine, the holy face, Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light, Would wither up, an any boy of ...
Never until the mankind making Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darkness Tells with silence the last light ...
A stranger has come To share my room in the house not right in the head, A girl mad as ...
Incarnate devil in a talking snake, The central plains of Asia in his garden, In shaping-time the circle stung awake, ...
To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe, Now that my symbols have outelbowed space, Time at the city spectacles, ...
It was my thirtieth year to heaven Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood And the mussel pooled ...
I I see the boys of summer in their ruin Lay the gold tithings barren, Setting no store by harvest, ...
I dreamed my genesis in sweat of sleep, breaking Through the rotating shell, strong As motor muscle on the drill, ...
When all my five and country senses see, The fingers will forget green thumbs and mark How, through the halfmoon's ...
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