Year: 2004

  • A Light Left On

    A Light Left On by May Sarton In the evening we came back Into our yellow room, For a moment taken aback To find the light left on, Falling on silent flowers, Table, book, empty chair While we had gone elsewhere, Had been away for hours. When we came home together We found the inside…

  • For The Anniversary Of My Death

    For The Anniversary Of My Death by W.S. Merwin Every year without knowing it I have passed the day When the last fires will wave to me And the silence will set out Tireless traveller Like the beam of a lightless star Then I will no longer Find myself in life as in a strange…

  • Green Rain

    Green Rain by Dorothy Livesay I remember the long veils of green rain Feathered like the shawl of my grandmother— Green from the half-green of the spring trees Waving in the valley. I remember the road Like the one which leads to my grandmother’s house, A warm house, with green carpets, Geraniums, a trilling canary…

  • Twelve Songs [Song V, March 1936]

    Twelve Songs [Song V, March 1936] by W. H. Auden Fish in the unruffled lakes Their swarming colours wear, Swans in the winter air A white perfection have, And the great lion walks Through his innocent grove; Lion, fish, and swan Act, and are gone Upon Time’s toppling wave. We, till shadowed days are done,…

  • The Course of a Particular

    The Course of a Particular by Wallace Stevens Today the leaves cry, hanging on branches swept by wind, Yet the nothingness of winter becomes a little less. It is still full of icy shades and shapen snow. The leaves cry . . . One holds off and merely hears the cry. It is a busy…

  • No Comment

    I realize this has absolutely no impact on anyone’s behaviour here, since very few comments have ever been posted, but due to a massive wave of comment spam I had to turn the comment feature off. Don’t be surprised if nobody comments on your posts—they can’t. I’m really very sorry; I just don’t have time…

  • The Flight of Language

    The Flight of Language by W. S. Merwin Some of the leaves stay on all winter and spring comes without knowing whether there is suffering in them or ever was and what it is in the tongue they speak that cannot be remembered by listening for the whole time that they are on the tree…

  • On Growing Old

    On Growing Old by John Masefield Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying, My dog and I are old, too old for roving, Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving. I take the book and gather to the fire, Turning old yellow…

  • The Stars at Tallapoosa

    The Stars at Tallapoosa by Wallace Stevens The lines are straight and swift between the stars. The night is not the cradle that they cry, The criers, undulating the deep-oceaned phrase. The lines are much too dark and much too sharp. The mind herein attains simplicity. There is no moon, on single, silvered leaf. The…

  • London Rain

    London Rain by Louis MacNeice The rain of London pimples The ebony street with white And the neon lamps of London Stain the canals of night And the park becomes a jungle In the alchemy of night. My wishes turn to violent Horses black as coal— The randy mares of fancy, The stallions of the…