Aten can’t die He will not grow black in the fug of a tomb tunnel ...– Dorothy Porter, ‘Aten’s Scent’.
Jehan de Lescurel →
Why do you love the moon so much, my beautiful queen? For me your eyes, your...– Dorothy Porter, from ‘Full Moon’.
One I Love →
There’s naught as nice as th’ smell o’ good clean earth, except th’ smell o’...– Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden.
Bless you. Listen to me: my man wore the flowers, and there were young leaves...– A.K. Ramanujan, from ‘Kurinci: Lovers’ Meetings’, in Poems of Love and War.
Rains in season, forests grow beautiful. Black pregnant clouds bring the...– A.K. Ramanujan, from ‘Mullai: Patient Waiting and Happiness After Marriage’, in Poems of Love and War.
On silver light lay silver rain.– Robert Gray, from ‘Echoes’.
hymn of the cherubim →
And this bitter hour of defeat, When we behold a stony face in the black...– Georg Trakl, from ‘Song of the Western Countries’.
The latter was all one radiant harem of garden beauties. It glowed and blushed...– Edgar Allen Poe, from ‘The Island of the Fay’.
He asked if she sold luminous flowers that he had heard about, flowers which...– Anais Nin, from ‘Delta of Venus’.
Only if I move my arm a certain way, it comes back. Or the way the light bends...– Jane Hirshfield, ‘To Hear the Falling World’.
Summer came. Each tree On my street had its own Scheherazade. My nights Were...– Charles Simic, from ‘The White Room’.
I thought I heard Estella in the garden singing And some bird answering her,...– Charles Simic, from ‘This Morning’.
When a woman withdraws to give birth the sun may be shining but the shutters of...– Hilary Mantel, from ‘Wolf Hall’.
And even in the man there is motherhood, it seems to me, physical and spiritual;...– Rainer Maria Rilke, from ‘Letters to a Young Poet’.
It is not death, or pain, or loneliness that frightens her; what frightens her...– Bethany van Rijswijk, ‘To Begin’.
I loved burdocks and nettles, But the silver willow best of all. And,...– Anna Akhmatova, from ‘Willow’.
the song of wandering aengus →
Such are the visions which proffer great cornucopias full of fruit to the...– Virginia Woolf, from ‘Mrs. Dalloway’.
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow-ribbed sand,...– H.D., from ‘Wash of Cold River’.
How rich the scent of carnations, That came to me once in dream – There where...– Anna Akhmatova, from ‘For Osip Mandelstam’.
How weightless words are when nothing will do.– Philip Levine, from ‘Gospel’.
The word within a word, unable to speak a word, Swaddled with darkness.– T. S. Eliot, from ‘Gerontion’.
I am two and four and eight. I am the universe in diversity. I...– From ‘The Egyptian Book of the Dead’.
Thus when I come to shape here at this table between my hands the story of my...– Virginia Woolf, from ‘The Waves’.