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
- At Algeciras; A Meditaton Upon Death by William Butler Yeats
- Doom’s Day by Satish Verma
- Sonnet Of Motherhood VI poem – Zora Bernice May Cross poems
- Омар Хайям – Даже с самой прекрасной из милых подруг
- I Thank You, Mum by Raj Napal
- M for Man, Money and Moon by Raj Arumugam
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Степь
- Orlando Furioso Canto 8 by Ludovico Ariosto
- La Vie Boheme poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster
- Шекспир – Люби другого – Сонет 139
- To the Same poem – John Milton poems
- To Elizabeth Ward Perkins poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Spiritual Memories of Mother by Raj Napal
- The Beäten Path by William Barnes
- Robert Burns: Extempore In The Court Of Session:
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.