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
- Кондратий Рылеев – Переводчику «Андромахи»
- Epigram at Brownhill Inn by Robert Burns
- The White Peacock by Stephen Vincent Benet
- Омар Хайям – Для тех, кто умирает
- A bat flits by Yosa Buson
- The Rape of the Lock: Canto 1 poem – Alexander Pope
- The Bride poem – Ambrose Bierce poems | Poems and Poetry
- Epitaph in a Church-Yard in Charleston, South Carolina poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- The Family Monkey by Russell Edson
- Together by Siegfried Sassoon
- An Epistle to A Friend
- Mahomed Akrams Appeal To The Stars
- And because Love battles by Pablo Neruda
- The White Road Up Athirt The Hill by William Barnes
- Hark! Hark! The Lark by William Shakespeare
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.