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Best Famous Keith Douglas Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Keith Douglas poems. This is a select list of the best famous Keith Douglas poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Keith Douglas poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Keith Douglas poems.

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by Keith Douglas | |

Villanelle Of Spring Bells

 Bells in the town alight with spring
converse, with a concordance of new airs
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
People emerge from winter to hear them ring, children glitter with mischief and the blind man hears bells in the town alight with spring.
Even he on his eyes feels the caressing finger of Persephone, and her voice escaped from tears make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
Bird feels the enchantment of his wing and in ten fine notes dispels twenty cares.
Bells in the town alight with spring warble the praise of Time, for he can bring this season: chimes the merry heaven bears make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.
All evil men intent on evil thing falter, for in their cold unready ears bells in the town alight with spring make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.

by Keith Douglas | |


 Three weeks gone and the combatants gone
returning over the nightmare ground
we found the place again, and found
the soldier sprawling in the sun.
The frowning barrel of his gun overshadowing.
As we came on that day, he hit my tank with one like the entry of a demon.
Here in the gunpit spoil the dishonoured picture of his girl who has put: Steffi.
in a copybook gothic script.
We see him almost with content, abased, and seeming to have paid and mocked at by his own equipment that's hard and good when he's decayed.
But she would weep to see today how on his skin the swart flies move; the dust upon the paper eye and the burst stomach like a cave.
For here the lover and killer are mingled who had one body and one heart.
And death who had the soldier singled has done the lover mortal hurt.

by Keith Douglas | |

How To Kill

 Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang in the closed fist: Open Open Behold a gift designed to kill.
Now in my dial of glass appears the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry NOW.
Death, like a familiar, hears And look, has made a man of dust of a man of flesh.
This sorcery I do.
Being damned, I am amused to see the centre of love diffused and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.
The weightless mosquito touches her tiny shadow on the stone, and with how like, how infinite a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse.
A shadow is a man when the mosquito death approaches