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(Self-Portrait) Omens and Astrology. A desert flat and undisturbed, stupid and forlorn. Sunless. a caravan of failures. Pons Asinorum and the Feast of the Ass and revolt against standardized American childhood.
War and Violence.
Catapults and Torches and the first stray thrusts of Sun into the Soul. Bombardments and Bordels. Heraldry and High Walls. Too rigid to crumble but not too strong to fracture.
To you, my comrades, whether far or near,
I send this message. Let our past revive;
Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more.
Expecting, I shall wait till at my door
Because my love is quick to come and go-
A little here, and then a little there-
What use are any words of mine to swear
My heart is stubborn, and my spirit slow
(For S. A.)TO write one book in five years
or five books in one year,
to be the painter and the thing painted,
... where are we, bo?
She has no need to fear the fall
Of harvest from the laddered reach
Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing
From the steep beach.
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
The Black Cottage
We chanced in passing by that afternoon
To catch it in a sort of special picture
Among tar-banded ancient cherry trees,
Set well back from the road in rank lodged grass,
Portrait Of A Lady
Thou hast committed-
Fornication: but that was in another country,
And besides, the wench is dead.
The Jew of Malta.
T. S. Eliot
Kind solace in a dying hour!
Such, father, is not (now) my theme-
I will not madly deem that power
Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
Edgar Allan Poe
Cesar Borgia: Portrait En Pied
Sur fond sombre noyant un riche vestibule
Où le buste d'Horace et celui de Tibulle
Lointain et de profil rêvent en marbre blanc,
La main gauche au poignard et la main droite au flanc,
The Portrait In The Rock
Oh yes I knew him, I spent years with him,
with his golden and stony substance,
he was a man who was tired -
in Paraguay he left his father and mother,
Painter, would you make my picture?
Just forget the moral stricture.
Let me sit
With my belly to the table,
The General now lives in town;
He's eighty odd, they say;
You'll see him strolling up and down
The Prada any day.
Here at the height of the day night change
The color of the sky is uncertain,
The sky depending in which direction
One's eye strains, each of its swatches a strange
The Man Closing Up,' from Night Light' (1967),
would make his bed,
If he could sleep on it.
--A COSTLY good ; that none e'er bought or sold
For gem, or pearl, or miser's store, twice told :
Save certain watery pearls, possessed by all,
Which, one by one, may buy it as they fall.
You say, as one who shapes a life,
That you will never be a wife,
And, laughing lightly, ask my aid
Thoughtful in youth, but not austere in age;
Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage;
Too true to flatter and too kind to sneer,
And only just when seemingly severe;
Oliver Wendell Holmes
The Cloud Messenger - Part 04
The slender young woman who is there would be the premier creation by the
Creator in the sphere of women, with fine teeth, lips like a ripe bimba fruit, a
slim waist, eyes like a startled gazelleâ??s, a deep navel, a gait slow on account
of the weight of her hips, and who is somewhat bowed down by her breasts.
Looking At A Portrait
O why are there eyes like these,
That sparkle and dapple and tease,
So wide with the morning, so deep with the night,
Dancing and gleaming in passioned delight?
Joseph Seamon Cotter
'- Mark og Enge dÃ¦kkes af den hvide Snee,
Paa de dÃ¸de Blomster vil ei Livet see;
Dog, mens Vinterkulden trykker Jordens Kyst,
Anelse og LÃ¦ngsel fylder hvert et Bryst -!'
Hans Christian Andersen
The Death Of Marie Toro
We're taking Marie Toro to her home in Père-La-Chaise;
We're taking Marie Toro to her last resting-place.
Behold! her hearse is hung with wreaths till everything is hid
Except the blossoms heaping high upon her coffin lid.
A Portrait Of 1783
Your hair and chin are like the hair
And chin Burne-Jones's ladies wear;
You were unfashionably fair
The Enemy's Portrait
He saw the portrait of his enemy, offered
At auction in a street he journeyed nigh,
That enemy, now late dead, who in his life-time
Had injured deeply him the passer-by.
Madeline In Church
Here, in the darkness, where this plaster saint
Stands nearer than God stands to our distress,
And one small candle shines, but not so faint
As the far lights of everlastingness,
Charlotte Mary Mew