Allen Tate

Allen Tate

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

More Sonnets At Christmas I

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Robert Penn
You hold your eager
Too high in the air, you
As if the sleepy
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