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Слушать(AI)Snow
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window
Spawning snow and pink roses against
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural.
I peel and portionA tangerine and spit the pips and
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes–On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of your hands–There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
Louis MacNeice
Frederick Louis MacNeice (12 September 1907 – 3 September 1963) was an Irish poet and playwright from Northern Ireland, and a member of the Aude
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Autobiography
In my childhood trees were green And there was plenty to be seen Come back early or never come My father made the walls resound, He wore his collar the wrong way round
Sunday Morning
Down the road someone is practising scales, The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, Man's heart expands to tinker with his car For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar;
Epilogue
Rows of books around me stand, Fence me in on either hand; Through that forest of dead wordsI would hunt the living birds -So I write these lines for Who have felt the death-wish too,
The Sunlight on the Garden
The sunlight on the Hardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the Within its nets of gold;
