Allen Tate

Allen Tate

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John Orley Allen Tate (November 19, 1899 – February 9, 1979), known professionally as Allen Tate, was an American poet, essayist, social commentator, and Poet Laureate from 1943 to 1944.
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More Sonnets At Christmas I

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To Denis
Again the native hour lets down the
Uncombed and black, but gray the bobbing beard;
Ten years ago His eyes, fierce shuttlecocks,
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Inside And Outside

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Now twenty-four or maybe
Was the woman's age, and her white brow was sleek;
Lips parted in surprise, the flawless cheek;
The long brown hair coiled sullenly alive;
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Sonnets Of The Blood VII

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This message hastens lest we both go
Scattered, with no character, to death;
Death is untutored, with an ignorant
For precious identities of breath
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The Meaning Of Life

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A
Think about it at will: there is
Which is the commentary; there's that other,
Which may be called the
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The Mediterranean

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Quem das finem, rex magne, dolorum
Where we went in the boat was a long bayA slingshot wide, walled in by towering stone—Peaked margin of antiquity's delay,
And we went there out of time's monotone:
Where we went in the black hull n...
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Ignis Fatuus

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In the twilight of my audacityI saw you flee the world, the burnt
Of summer gave up their light:
Followed you with the uncommon
Of fear-supported and disbursed eyes
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To A Romantic

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To Robert Penn
You hold your eager
Too high in the air, you
As if the sleepy
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Horatian Epode To The Duchess Of Malfi

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Duchess:
Who am I
Bosola:
Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but asalvatory of green mummy
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Farewell To Anactoria

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(Sappho)Never the tramp of foot or horse,
Nor lusty cries from ship at sea,
Shall I call loveliest on the dark earth-My heart moves lovingly
I say that what one loves is best:
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The Ancestors

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When the night's coming and the last light fallsA weak child among lost shadows on the floor,
It is your listening: pulse heeds the
Of fore and after, wind shivers the door
What masterful delay commands the
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Mr Pope

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When Alexander Pope strolled in the
Strict was the glint of pearl and ''old sedans
Ladies leaned out more out of fear than
For Pope's tight back was rather a goat's than
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Mother And Son

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Now all day long the man who is not
Hastens the dark with inattentive eyes,
The woman with white hand and erect
Stares at the covers, leans for the son's
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The Wolves

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There are wolves in the next room
With heads bent low, thrust out,
At nothing in the dark; between them and meA white door patched with light from the
Where it seems never (so still is the house)A man has walked from the front door ...
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The Paradigm

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For when they meet, the tensile
Like fine steel strains under the
Of messages that both hearts bear-Pure passion once, now purest hate;
Till the taut air like a cold
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Idiot

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The idiot greens the meadow with his eyes,
The meadow creeps implacable and still;
A dog barks, the hammock swings, he lies
One two three the cows bulge on the hill
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To The Romantic Traditionists

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I have looked at them long,
My eyes blur; sourceless
Keeps them forever
Before our ageing sight
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