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D. H. Lawrence

And if, as autumn deepens and darkens I feel the pain of falling leaves, and stems that break in storms and trouble and dissolution and distress and then the softness of deep shadows folding, folding around my soul and spirit, around my lips… so sweet, like a swoon, or more like the drowse of a… Continue reading D. H. Lawrence

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Passage · Peruvian Culture · Peruvian Literature · Poetry

César Vallejo

I will die in Paris with a rainstorm, on a day I already remember, I will die in Paris—and I don’t shy away— perhaps on a Thursday, as today is, in autumn.        It will be Thursday, because today, Thursday, as I prose these lines, I’ve put on my humeri in a bad mood, and,… Continue reading César Vallejo

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Poetry

Elinor Wylie

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words: I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish Which circle slowly with a silken swish, And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds: Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds, Come to my hand, and playful if I wish, Or purring softly at a silver dish, Blue Persian kittens fed… Continue reading Elinor Wylie

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American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Contemporary · Poetry

Jack Gilbert

Imagine if suffering were real. Imagine if those old people were afraid of death. What if the midget or the girl with one arm really felt pain? Imagine how impossible it would be to live if some people were alone and afraid all their lives. — Jack Gilbert, “Games,” Monolithos: Poems, 1962 and 1982. (Alfred… Continue reading Jack Gilbert

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Poetry · The New York School · Uncategorized

Frank O’Hara

Now That I Am in Madrid I Can Think I think of you and the continents brilliant and arid and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with the American air as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside slowly greet each morning and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns colored… Continue reading Frank O’Hara

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Poetry · Russian Culture · Russian Literature

Anna Akhmatova

Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold, Death’s great black wing scrapes the air, Misery gnaws to the bone. Why then do we not despair? By day, from the surrounding woods, cherries blow summer into town; at night the deep transparent skies glitter with new galaxies. And the miraculous comes so close to the ruined, dirty houses—… Continue reading Anna Akhmatova

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