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 Member: iamwrappedupinbooksBooks544 books cataloged Favorite authorsW. H. Auden, Julian Barnes, A.S. Byatt, Dorothy Parker, Stevie Smith, Virginia Woolf (Shared favorites) About my libraryAlways expanding, unlike my bookshelf space. Membership Real nameApril Emailaprilpelt Account typeprivate, lifetime Member sinceMar 26, 2007 |
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to in-see a dog, not in-spect.
To let oneself precisely
into its very center.
To know that it was good,...
that it could not
have been made better.
did you know there's another wrappedupinbooks at LT, fancy that.
posted by Porius at 4:53 pm (EST) on Feb 1, 2009
to in-see a dog, not in-spect.
To let oneself precisely
into its very center.
To know that it was good,...
that it could not
have been made better.
did you know there's another wrappedupinbooks at LT, fancy that.
posted by Porius at 4:51 pm (EST) on Feb 1, 2009
posted by allenwrench14 at 2:22 pm (EST) on Jan 13, 2009
what a nice surprise. too bad old Wystan Hugh could find neither comfort or joy on the Sinister Street. This, from a fellow poet known for his nighttime strolls through town and country:
I COULD GIVE ALL TO TIME
To Time it never seems that he is brave
To set himself against the peaks of snow
To lay them level with the running wave,
Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low,
But only grave, contemplative and grave.
What now is inland shall be ocean isle,
Then eddies playing round a sunken reef
Like the curl at the corner of a smile;
And I could share Time's lack of joy or grief
At such a planetary change of style.
I could give all to Time-except
What I myself have held. But why declare
The things forbidden that while the Customs slept
I have crossed to Safety with? For I am there,
And what I would not part with I have kept.
posted by Porius at 9:36 pm (EST) on Dec 14, 2008
what a nice surprise. too bad old Wystan Hugh could find neither comfort or joy on the Sinister Street. This, from a fellow poet known for his nighttime strolls through town and countr
I COULD GIVE ALL TO TIME
To Time it never seems that he is brave
To set himself against the peaks of snow
To lay them level with the running wave,
Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low,
But only grave, contemplative and grave.
What now is inland shall be ocean isle,
Then eddies playing round a sunken reef
Like the curl at the corner of a smile;
And I could share Time's lack of joy or grief
At such a planetary change of style.
I could give all to Time-except
What I myself have held. But why declare
The things forbidden that while the Customs slept
I have crossd to Safety with? For I am there,
And what I would not part with I have kept.
posted by Porius at 9:32 pm (EST) on Dec 14, 2008
i mean no harm, really. the rest is silence.
pgt
posted by Porius at 1:39 am (EST) on Dec 12, 2008
Never shall a young man,
Thrown into despair
By those great honey-colored
Ramparts at your ear,
Love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair,
But i can get a hair-dye
And set such color there,
Brown, or black, or carrot,
That young men in despair
May love me for myself alone
And not my yellow hair.
I heard an old religious man
But yesternight declare
That he had found a text to prove
That only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair.
posted by Porius at 4:09 am (EST) on Nov 28, 2008
i hope you take the covers off occassionaly. the water's fine.
posted by Porius at 2:38 pm (EST) on Nov 19, 2008