Katherine Mansfield

Katherine Mansfield

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Kathleen Mansfield Murry (née Beauchamp; 14 October 1888 – 9 January 1923) was a prominent modernist writer who was born and brought up in New Zealand. She wrote short stories and poetry under the pen name Katherine Mansfield.
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Voices of the Air

But then there comes that moment
When, for no cause that I can find,
The little voices of the
Sound above all the sea and wind
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I saw a tiny
Under a bright blue
That had white
And forked ribs of gold
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Walked out into the
And splashed in all the pubbles
She had such shocking
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When I was a Bird

I climbed up the karaka
Into a nest all made of
But soft as feathers
I made up a song that went on singing all by
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Fairy Tale

Now this is the story of
Who ages and ages
Lived right on the top of a mountain,
A mountain all covered with snow
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Out in the Garden

Out in the garden,
Out in the windy, swinging dark,
Under the trees and over the flower-beds,
Over the grass and under the hedge border,
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The Awakening River

The gulls are mad-in-love with the river,
And the river unveils her face and smiles
In her sleep-brooding eyes they mirror their shining wings
She lies on silver pillows: the sun leans over her
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Most merciful
Look kindly
An impudent
Who wants sitting on
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Deaf House Agent

That deaf old
With his hand to his ear—His hand to hi head stood out like a shell,
Horny and hollow
He said, "I can't hear,"He muttered, "Don't shout,
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On a Young Ladys Sixth Anniversary

Baby Babbles—only one,
Now to sit up has begun
Little Babbles quite turned
Walks as well as I and you
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Evening Song of the Thoughtful Child

Shadow children, thin and small,
Now the day is left behind,
You are dancing on the wall,
On the curtains, on the blind
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The Family

All of them were born together;
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Grown- Up Talk

Half-Past-Six and I were
In a very grown-up way;
We had got so tired with
That we did not want to play
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Spring Wind in London

I Blow across the stagnant world,
I blow across the sea,
For me, the sailor's flag unfurled,
For me, the uprooted tree
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Now it is Loneliness who comes at
Instead of Sleep, to sit beside my bed
Like a tired child I lie and wait her tread,
I watch her softly blowing out the light
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There is a Solemn Wind To-Night

There is a solemn wind to-night That sings of solemn rain;
The trees that have been quiet so long Flutter and start again
The slender trees, the heavy trees, The fruit trees laden and proud,
Lift up their branches to the wind That c...
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