T.S. Eliot
- Preludes - I
The winter evening settles down with smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps the grimy scraps of withered leaves about your feet and newspapers from vacant lots; the showers beat on broken blinds and chimney-pots, and at the corner of the street a lonely cab-horse streams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.
Pablo Neruda
- Body of a Woman - II
But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you. Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk. Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence! Oh the roses of the pubis! Oh your voice, slow and sad! Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace. My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road! Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.
Pablo Neruda
- Body of a Woman - I
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs, you look like a world, lying in surrender. My rough peasant's body digs in you and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth. I was alone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me, and night swamped me with its crushing invasion. To survive myself I forged you like a weapon, like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.
Patrick Kavanah
- On Raglan Road (4)
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow that I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay, when the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of the day.
Patrick Kavanah
- On Raglan Road (3)
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known To the artist who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May.
Patrick Kavanah
- On Raglan Road (2)
On Grafton street in November we tipped lightly along the ledge of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I am not making hay - Oh I loved too much and by such by such is happiness thrown away.
Patrick Kavanah
- On Raglan Road
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew that her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, and I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
