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T. S. Eliot

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent If the unheard, unspoken Word is unspoken, unheard; Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard, The Word without a word, the Word within The world and for the world; And the light shone in darkness and Against the Word the unstilled world… Continue reading T. S. Eliot

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William Carlos Williams

Landscape with the Fall of Icarus According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field the whole pageantry of the year was awake tingling near the edge of the sea concerned with itself sweating in the sun that melted the wings’ wax unsignificantly off the coast there was a… Continue reading William Carlos Williams

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American Literature · British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fragment · Imagism · Modernism · Nobel Prize in Literature (1948) · Passage · Poetry

T. S. Eliot

In the uncertain hour before the morning Near the ending of interminable night At the recurrent end of the unending After the dark dove with flickering tongue Had passed below the horizon of his homing While the dead leaves still rattled on like tin — T. S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets (Harcourt, 1943)

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E. E. Cummings

ix nearer: breath of my breath: take not thy tingling limbs from me: make my pain their crazy meal letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling: deeper: blood of my blood: with upwardcringing swiftness plunge these leopards of white dream in the glad flesh of my fear: more… Continue reading E. E. Cummings

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American Literature · British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Nobel Prize in Literature (1948) · Passage · Poetry

T. S. Eliot

“Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who… Continue reading T. S. Eliot

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