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
- Paradise Lost: Book 10 poem – John Milton poems
- Sinfonia Eroica poem – Amy Levy poems | Poems and Poetry
- Show me by Rixa White
- Владимир Маяковский – Чугунные штаны
- Николай Заболоцкий – Вчера, о смерти размышляя
- Николай Карамзин – К неверной
- Михаил Лермонтов – Жена севера
- On His Grotto at Twickenham poem – Alexander Pope
- Наум Коржавин – От судьбы никуда не уйти
- Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802 by William Wordsworth
- Farewell to Hsin Chien at Hibiscus Pavilion by Wang Wei
- Scoring Highly on the Psychopathy Scale by P.J.Reed
- Ros poem – Andrew Marvell poems
- My Views of Man by Ronald G. Auguste
- Ок Мельникова – Подростковые драмы
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.