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
- My Winter Rose poem – Alfred Austin
- Cake by Roger McGough
- Вергилий – Лидия
- Conviction (iv) by Stevie Smith
- Reply to an Announcement by J. Rankine by Robert Burns
- Олег Бундур – Запахи дня
- Robert Burns: Complimentary Epigram On Maria Riddell:
- Zummer Thoughts In Winter Time by William Barnes
- The Blessed by William Butler Yeats
- ON THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE AND UNCERTAINTY OF RICHES by Abraham Cowley
- The Basset-Table : An Eclogue poem – Alexander Pope poems | Poetry Monster
- Kailangan ko’y Yakap by Melissa Sazon Flores
- Шекспир – Ты положи с моей любовью рядом – Сонет 117
- To his Majestie by William Alexander
- O Do Not Love Too Long by William Butler Yeats
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.