Victoria Sackville West

Victoria Sackville West

1,000 карма
United Kingdom (Great Britain)

Full Moon

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She was wearing the coral taffeta
Someone had brought her from Ispahan,
And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms,
And the coral-hafted feather fan;
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A Saxon Song

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Tools with the comely names, Mattock and scythe and spade, Couth and bitter as flames, Clean, and bowed in the blade,--A man and his tools make a man and his trade
Breadth of the English shires, Hummock and kame and mead, Tang of the reeking ...
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Song

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If I had only loved your
And careless damned your soul to Hell,
I might have laughed and loved afresh,
And loved as lightly and as well,
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Tuscany

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Cisterns and stones; the fig-tree in the
Casts down her shadow, ashen as her boughs,
Across the road, across the thick white dust
Down from the hill the slow white oxen crawl,
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Leopards at Knole

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Leopards on the gable-ends,
Leopards on the painted stair,
Stiff the blazoned shield they bear,
Or and gules, a bend of vair,
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Moonlight

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What time the meanest brick and
Take on a beauty not their own,
And past the flaw of builded
Shines the intention whole and good,
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Mariana In The North

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All her youth is gone, her beautiful youth outworn,
Daughter of tarn and tor, the moors that were once her
No longer know her step on the upland tracks forlorn Where she was wont to roam
All her hounds are dead, her beautiful hounds...
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