And the waves sing because they are moving. And the waves sing above a cemetery of waters.
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Courage is no good: It means not scaring others. Being brave...
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My mother, who hates thunderstorms, Holds up each summer day and shakes It out suspiciously, lest swarms Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there....
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Books; china; a life Reprehensibly perfect.
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Life is an immobile, locked, Three-handed struggle between...
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Endlessly, time-honoured irritant, A bubble is restively forming at your tip....
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In fact, may you be dull If that is what a skilled,...
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For nations vague as weed, For nomads among stones,...
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Living toys are something novel, But it soon wears off somehow....
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... everyone young going down the long slide To happiness, endlessly.
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... a unique endeavour To bring to bloom the million-petalled flower Of being here.
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Why should I let the toad work Squat on my life? Can't I use my wit as a pitchfork and drive the brute off?
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Sixty years ago they smiled At lover, husband, first-born child....
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Half life is over now, And I meet full face on dark mornings...
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Surely, to think the lion's share Of happiness is found by couples sheer...
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A slight relax of air. All is not dead.
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A decent chap, a real good sort, Straight as a die, one of the best,...
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Joy has no cause: Though cut to pieces with a knife,...
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And yet spend all our life on imprecisions, That when we start to die Have no idea why.
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Never to walk from the station's lamps and laurels Carrying my father's lean old leather case...
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And yet the sun pardons our voices still, And berries in the hedge...
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The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful...
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'O what unlucky streak Twisting inside me, made me break the line?...
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For we have thought the longer thoughts And gone the shorter way. And we have danced to devil's tunes Shivering home to pray; I take you now and for always, For always is always now.
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Though living is a dreadful thing And a dreadful thing is it...
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You still might trace Uncalled-for to this day Your person, your place.
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All that's left to happen Is some deaths (my own included). Their order, and their manner, Remain to be learnt.
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Can even death dry up These new delighted lakes, conclude Our kneeling as cattle by all-generous waters?
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Since the majority of me Rejects the majority of you, Debating ends forthwith, and we Divide.
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And the case of butterflies so rich it looks As if all summer settled there and died.
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