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able American appear arms artist beautiful become believe called child close COLUMBINE comes course criticism dancing dark dead death door dream expression eyes face fact father feel feet girl give gone hand head hear heart hold human idea John keep laugh leaves less letter light lines literature live look matter mean mind moon nature never NEWTON night once pass perhaps person PIERROT play poems poetry poets present Roses seemed sense Seumas shadow side smile song soul speak stars step story strange street sure talk tell thing thought tion Translated trees true turned verse VOICE volume wait walk whole wind woman wonder write young
Page 174 - What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water.
Page 98 - LAST night ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Page 174 - Phlebas the Phoenician. a fortnight dead." Forgot the cry of gulls. and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool.
Page 101 - They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, then closes Within a dream.
Page 205 - The Pasture I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I shan't be gone long. — You come too. I'm going out to fetch the little calf That's standing by the mother. It's so young, It totters when she licks it with her tongue. I sha'n't be gone long. — You come too.
Page 73 - Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.
Page 101 - I think poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity ; it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Page 99 - I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Page 161 - Know you what it is to be a child? It is to be something very different from the man of today. It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of baptism; it is to believe in love, to believe in loveliness, to believe in belief...