In summer, the song sings itself.
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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady's slipper.
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Their time past, pulled down cracked and flung to the fire go up in a roar All recognition lost, burnt clean clean in the flame, the green dispersed, a living red, flame red, red as blood wakes on the ash--
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The perfect man of action, is the suicide.
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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady's slipper.
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But all art is sensual and poetry particularly so. It is directly, that is, of the senses, and since the senses do not exist without an object for their employment all art is necessarily objective. It doesn't declaim or explain, it presents.
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The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
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Their time past, pulled down cracked and flung to the fire go up in a roar All recognition lost, burnt clean clean in the flame, the green dispersed, a living red, flame red, red as blood wakes on the ash--
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By listening to his language of his locality the poet begins to learn his craft. It is his function to lift, by use of imagination and the language he hears, the material conditions and appearances of his environment to the sphere of the intelligence where they will have new currency.
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The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
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If they give you lined paper, write the other way.
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By listening to his language of his locality the poet begins to learn his craft. It is his function to lift, by use of imagination and the language he hears, the material conditions and appearances of his environment to the sphere of the intelligence where they will have new currency.
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The perfect man of action, is the suicide.
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But all art is sensual and poetry particularly so. It is directly, that is, of the senses, and since the senses do not exist without an object for their employment all art is necessarily objective. It doesn't declaim or explain, it presents.
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In summer, the song sings itself.
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What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?
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What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?
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It is alive, venomous it smiles grimly its words cut—
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It is alive, venomous it smiles grimly its words cut—
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If they give you lined paper, write the other way.
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the black wings of the hospital where nothing will grow
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You said, Unless there is some spark, some spirit we keep within ourselves, life, a...
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they appear youthful, rare ...
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What power has love but forgiveness In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise
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the black wings of the hospital where nothing will grow
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You said, Unless there is some spark, some spirit we keep within ourselves, life, a...
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What power has love but forgiveness In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise
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they appear youthful, rare ...
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