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József Tornai

  I’ll write my arm out in stars, my legs in blood-boltered ash trees, so that words           may be transmogrified into all my organs                               one after another                               but then                       I’ll pull the pen from my hand,            and dip it into the river’s icy form, just as burning, molten meteors                         … Continue reading József Tornai

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Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Italian Culture · Italian Literature · Passage · Poetry · Reference

Eugenio Montale

It never occurred to you to leave any trace of yourself in prose or verse, which was your charm—and then my self-disgust. It was also what terrified me: that you might cast me back into the croaking mire of my playful allusions. — Eugenio Montale, from “Xenia I,” The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry. (Ecco;… Continue reading Eugenio Montale

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British Culture · Doctor of the Church · English Monk · Historian · Middle Ages · Passage · Quote · Reference · Religion · Theology

Bede

The present life of man, O king, seems to me, in comparison of that time which is unknown to us, like to the swift flight of a sparrow through the room wherein you sit at supper in winter, with your commanders and ministers, and a good fire in the midst, whilst the storms of rain… Continue reading Bede

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Modernism · Poetry · Reference · Romanticism · Seasonal · Transcendentalism

Emily Dickinson

‘Twas just this time, last year, I died. I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms — It had the Tassels on — I thought how yellow it would look — When Richard went to mill — And then, I wanted to get out, But something held my will. I… Continue reading Emily Dickinson

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

Harold Witter Bynner

There is a dear weariness of love… Hand relaxed in hand, Shoulder at rest upon shoulder. And to me that pool of weariness is more wonderful Than crater, cataract, Maelstrom, earthquake… For it is a double pool In which lie, silent, The golden fishes of sleep. —  Harold Witter Bynner, “Weariness,” Others for 1919: An… Continue reading Harold Witter Bynner

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