Those blessèd structures, plot and rhyme—why are they no help to me nowI want to makesomething imagined, not recalled
I hear the noise of my own voice:
The painter's vision is not a lens, it trembles to caress the light
But sometime...
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
Those amber locks are those same nets, my dear,
Wherewith my liberty thou didst surprise;
Love was the flame that fired me so near;
The dart transpiercing were those crystal eyes
Cruel of heart, lay down my song,
Your reading eyes have done me wrong,
Not for you was the pen bitten,
And the mind wrung, and the song written
I To the cities I came in a time of disorder That was ruled by hunger
I sheltered with the people in a time of uproar And then I joined in their rebellion
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth
I ate my dinne...
Look at all those
Jumping in their cage
Why don't they all go out to
And earn a decent wage
Let those who're fond of idle tricks,
Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks, And all that sort of fun,
Now hear a tale of idle Jim,
That warning they may take by him, Nor do as he has done
Those born in obscure
Do not remember their way
We, children of Russia's frightful
Cannot forget a thing
A crippled
Said, “How shall I dance
”Let your heart
We said
If instead of being hanged by the neck you're thrown inside for not giving up hopein the world, your country, your people, if you do ten or fifteen years apart from the time you have left,you won't say, "Better I had swung from the end of a r...
Those who always know what’s bestarea universal pest
There are places where the eye can starve,
But not here
Here, for example,
The Piazza Navona, & here is his narrow