Morning, a glass door, flashes
Gold names off the new city,
Whose white shelves and domes travel
The slow sky all day.
I land to stay here;
And the windows flock open
And the curtains fly out like doves
And a past dries in a wind.
Now let me lie down, under
A wide-branched indifference,
Shovel-faces like pennies
Down the back of the mind,
Find voices coined to
An argot of motor-horns,
And let the cluttered-up houses
Keep their thick lives to themselves.
For this ignorance of me
Seems a kind of innocence.
Fast enough I shall wound it:
Let me breathe till then
Its milk-aired Eden,
Till my own life impound it-
Slow-falling; grey-veil-hung; a theft,
A style of dying only.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- 決定
- An Incantation by Thomas Moore
- In A Cuban Garden by Sara Teasdale
- The Lover Asks Forgiveness Because Of His Many Moods by William Butler Yeats
- blessing for sound health by matthew scott harris
- The Female of the Species by Rudyard Kipling
- Binsey Poplars poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Lamhe by Priyanka Tungana
- My Mother’s Body by Marge Piercy
- Scenes Of The Mind poem – Aldous Huxley poems | Poetry Monster
- Владимир Маяковский – Гевлок Вильсон
- Валерий Брюсов – Это было? Неужели?
- A Rustic Seat Near The Sea by William Lisle Bowles
- Words You Said poem – Andrew Neil Maternick poems | Poems and Poetry
- Владимир Солоухин – Все смотрю
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
Philip Arthur Larkin (1922-1985), Commander of the Order of the British Empire, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, Cavalier of the Order of the Companions of Honour, was an English poet, novelist, and librarian.