***

MARKINGS

A bright particular star

A being darkly wise, and rudely great

A butterfly
Asleep, perched upon
The temple bell

A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat oppressed brain?

A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears

A las cinco de la tarde
Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde
Un niño trajo la blanca sabana
A las cinco de la tarde

A life ago
Alone in those great mountains
All that now a mere rag
Perished like the wind
So cool. so crystalline
Clear and distant as a fish under water
The sad, quick years

A little water clears us of this deed

A long farewell to all my greatness.
This is the state of man; today he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; tomorrow blossoms
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root
And then he falls as I do. I have ventured
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth. My high blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind

A man that apprehends death as no more dreadfully but
as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless of
what's past, present, or to come; insensible of mortality,
and desperately mortal.

A man whose blood is very snow broth; one who never feels the wanton stings and motions of the sense; but doth rebate and blunt his natural edge with profits of the mind, study and fast.

A naked, thinking heart

A pine in solitude
Cradling a dove

A poet like a pale candle guttering
On a worn window-sill in the wind

A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man

A recognised but unanalysable rightness of the sounds

A snowfall of gold in the autumn light
Differences of light:
This glass now flashes that was dark
Across many hills signals are sent
A sudden sun changes cold into fire
O golden fish, how fast the air dulls your scales
On a winter's day the air gleams
A jay pecks at diamonds

A slipper and subtle knave

A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, muddy, ill seeming, thick, bereft of beauty, and while it is so, none so dry or thirsty, will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it.

A woman of so shining loveliness
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress

Absent thee from felicity awhile
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain

Across the centuries let us take hands
Join in the winding dance
With long-dead living friends
In the whirl and fire
Of music that never ends
Mind singing to mind
Beyond the grave
O sisters, brothers!
You are not alone in the perished years.

Action is transitory, - a step, a blow
The motion of a muscle, this way or that -
Tis done and in the after-vacancy
We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed

Aeneadum genetrix, hominum divomque voluptas
alma Venus, caeli subter labentia signa
quae mare navigerum, quae terras frugiferentis
concelebras, per te quoniam genus omne animantum
concipitur visitque exortum lumina solis:
te, dea, te fugiunt venti, te nubila caeli
adventumque tuum, tibi suavis daedala tellus
summittit flores, tibi rident aequora ponti
placatumque nitet diffuso lumine caelum.
nam simul ac species patefactast verna diei
et reserata viget genitabilis aura favoni,
aeriae primum volucres te, diva, tuumque
significant initum perculsae corda tua vi.

After all, no angel's hand will touch you
Transfiguration is not to be expected
Or welcomed
Only if you grow into a new world
Is the journey worth pursuing
Apotheosis would be pointless
Deification an irritation
You must feel the sharp rock beneath your feet
Expect bleeding hands and bruises
The reward an occasional glimpse of a white peak

After dream,
how real
the iris

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety..

Ah, Faustus
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live
And then thou must be damned perpetually
Stand still you ever-moving spheres of heaven
That time may cease, and midnight never come.
Fair nature's eye, rise, rise again and make
Perpetual day, or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.
O lente lente currite noctis equi:
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will
strike

Ah vous, humains, vermine tenace

Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, not spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie
And yet you will weep and know why

All changed, changed utterly
A terrible beauty is born

All day and night
Above the inn, the smithy and the shop
The aspens at the crossroads talk together

All our joys are but fantastical

All Persia sighed to kiss her small red mouth
Until they buried her in shifting sands

All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream

All the flowers of the spring
Meet to perfume our burying
They have but their growing prime
And man does flourish but his time
Survey our progress from our birth
We are set, we grow, we turn to earth
Courts adieu and all delights
All bewitching appetites
sweetest breath and clearest eye
Like perfumes go out and die
And consequently this is done
As shadows wait upon the sun
Vain th'ambition of kings
Who seek by trophies and dead things
To leave a living name behind
And weave but nets to catch the wind

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

All the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white

All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.

All things counter, original, spare, strange

All tongues speak of him and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him.

Almost no grave allowed me. Like the lily That once was mistress of the field, and flourished I'll hang my head and perish.

Along the mountain path
The scent of plum-blossom
And, on a sudden, the rising sun.

Amère, sombre et sonore citerne
Sonnant dans l'âme un creux toujours futur!

amagaeru A little frog
basho ni norite Rides a banana leaf
soyogi keri Trembling

Amelette Ronsardelette,
Mignonnelette, doucelette,
Tres-chere hostesse de mon corps,

Amour-Roi
Dites-moi
La si belle
Colombelle
Infidèle
Qu'on appelle
Petit Lou
Dites où
Donc est-elle
Et chez qui
- Mais chez Gui

An aged man is but a paltry thing
A tattered coat upon a stick

An old, mad, blind, despised and dying king

And all is dross that is not Helena.

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

And barren rage of death's eternal cold

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars

And by a sleep to say we end
The heart ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to....
But that the dread of something after death ... puzzles the will

And eke out our performance with your minds.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow
Dropping from the veils of morning

And nothing can we call our own but death.
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.

And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

And pity like a naked new born babe
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye.

And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour, we rot and rot.

And the mill groaning away
The tumble-down barn in the field
All of that has already been sometime
But long long ago forgotten.

And then I loved thee, and show'd thee all the qualities of the isle, the fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile; Cursed be that I did so ... You taught me language, and my profit on't is, I know how to curse....

And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon.

And this man Is now become a god
When he walks, he moves like a engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. ...
He wants nothing to a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

And weave but nets to catch the wind.

And what he thought, he uttered with that easinesse, that wee have scarse received from him a blot in his papers for his wit can no more be hid, then it could be lost.

And what is Life? - an hour-glass on the run
A mist retreating from the morning sun
A busy, bustling, still repeated dream;
Its length? - A minute's pause, a moment's thought;
And happiness? - A bubble on the stream
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

And where the offence is, let the great axe fall.

And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?

And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me; no nor woman neither,
Though by your smiling you seem to say so.

Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.

Anxius vixi, dubius morior

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire

Araño del silencio
Tejele tu misteria

Arbres sur qui je passe, ample et naive moire,
Eau de ramages peinte, et paix d'accompli,
Déchire-les, ma barque, impose-leur un pli
Qui coure du grand calme abolir la mémoire.

Arid fields,
the only life -
necks of cranes

As a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in!

As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable

As love is full of unbefitting strains
All wanton as a child, skipping and vain
Formed by the eye and therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance

As mad as the vexed sea

As those two mourning eyes become thy face

Assis sous le grand arbre de chagrin

Assise, la fileuse au bleu de la croisée

At lacrimans exclusus amator ... foribus miser oscula figit

At my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near

At the round earth's imagined corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go

Au pied de l'échafaud, j'essaye encore ma lyre

Autumn -
even the birds
and clouds look old

Avril, l'honneur et des bois
Et des mois
Avril, la douce espérance
Des fruicts qui sous le coton
Du bouton
Nourissent leur jeune enfance.

Awake! Awake! Awake!
On the wide world an all-questioning eye
Let new perceptions blaze
Let rockets and starshells
Startle the mind's black sky

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where,
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod, and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprisoned in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendant world

Ay, que camino tan largo!
!Ay, mi jaca valerosa!
!Ay, que la muerte me espera
antes de llegar a Cordoba!

Night thoughts are deeper

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang

Batter my heart, three-person'd God

Be not afear'd. The isle is full of noises
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny

Beau ciel, vrai ciel, regards-moi qui change!
Après tant d'orgeuil, après tant d'étrange
Oisiveté, mais pleine de pouvoir,
Je m'abandonne à ce brillant espace
Sur les maisons des morts mon ombre passe
Qui m'apprivoise à son frêle mouvoir.

Bebe el agua tranquila
de la cancion aneja.
!Arroyo claro
fuente serena!

Because I do not hope to turn again

Behind, the cloud
Ahead, the sea
Here now my bright integrity
I dive from here to there
Through the defining air

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend
Nor services to do till you require.
While I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.

Bel Aubepin fleurissant
Verdissant

Belle, jeune, brillante, aux bourreaux amenée,
Tu semblais t'avancer sur le char d'hymenée
Calme sur l'échafaud
O Vertu, le poignard, seul espoir de la terre

Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream

Beyond serenity,
grey kites
in twilight TAIGI

Beyond - the golden galaxy glitters
Below - the smooth water of being quivers
Within - the living crystal substance
Over all the uniform impersonal sky.

Bid me despair and I'll despair
Under that cypress tree
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en Death, to die for thee

Blanche com lys, plus que rose vermeille,
Resplendissant com rubis d'Oriant

Blanche fille aux cheveux roux
Dont la robe par ses trous
Laisse voir la pauvreté
Et la beauté

Blow away the Universe like a grain of dust

Blow wind, come wrack
At least we'll die with harness on our back

Blow winds and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow You cataracts and hurricanoes

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

Brightness falls from the air
Queens have died young and fair
Dust hath closed Helen's eye
I am sick, I must die
Lord have mercy on us.

But, ah, thought kills me that I am not thought

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near
And yonder all before us lie
Desarts of vast eternity
Thy beauty shall no more be found
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity
And your quaint honour turn to dust
And into ashes all my lust
The grave's a fine and private place
But none I think do there embrace

But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,

But keep the wolf far from thence that's foe to men
For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

But let your love even with my life decay.

But pleasures are like poppies spread-
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river-
A moment white - then melts for ever

But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired

But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool
And time that takes survey of all the world
Must have a stop

But thy eternal summer shall not fade
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

But we are looking beyond the sun and stars, beyond the trivial vibration of the days, beyond these formal years and the little fire of life.
Our eyes are lifted to endlessness, to complexity upon complexity,
Depth within depth, looking with the eye of everything, at all time and all space
The moment is transfixed by the stabbing mind, the evanescent fixed
Dissected, displayed -
Its bonds to all that is, all that was, stretched out, shown, arranged for instruction
We savour feeling, measure thought, lay a hard and controlling hand on existence
Infinitely we reflect ourselves in mirrors and stare out at ourselves

But we worldly men Have mad, miserable, mistaking eyes

But when the blast of war blows in our ears
Then imitate the action of the tiger

By a sleep to say we end
The heart ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to....

By heaven, she is a dainty one.
Sweetheart, I were unmannerly to take you out
And not to kiss you.

By indirections find directions out

By the golden glowing star-cloud of the galaxies, I summon Gigi's eyes!

By the Lord, this love is mad as Ajax; it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep. ... By heaven, I do love; and it hath taught me to rhyme and be melancholy.

C'étaient de très grands forces en croissance sur toutes pistes de ce monde
qui vivaient aux actes du futur

Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren
Since o'er shady groves they hover
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.

Call unto his funeral dole
The ant, the fieldmouse and the mole
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm
And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm
But keep the wolf far from thence, that's foe to men
For with his nails he'll dig him up again

Can this cockpit
Hold the vasty fields of France? Or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd
Pluck from the memory the rooted sorrow
Raze out the written troubles of the brain

Cantan los niños
en la noche quieta;
!Arroyo claro
fuente serena!

Capsules de néant dans la bouche de l'homme

Ce pur instant de mer qui précède la brise

Ce toit tranquille, où marchent des colombes,
Entre les pins palpite, entre les tombes,
Midi le juste y compose de feux
La mer, la mer, toujours recommencée!
O récompense après une pensée
Qu'un long regard sur le calme des dieux.!

Ces grands textes.. ensemencés d'éclairs et semoncés d'orages

Cette lancination du coeur qui force en nous l'exploit

Chûte superbe, fin si douce,
Oubli des luttes, quel délice
Que d'étendre à même la mousse
Après la danse, le corps lisse!

Clean starved for a look
And yet it may be said that I lov'd her dearly
But here's the joy, my friend and I are one

Clear your mind from every care
Be bright and cool and fresh as air
Dissipate the mists of doubt
The smoking fire of wrath put out
Move freely in the world of change
Through fields and days ungrieving range
Not loving nor unloving calmly rest
Shining in stillness peace is best

Cloud capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.

Cold in the earth - and fifteen wild Decembers
From those brown hills, have melted into spring

Cold winds blow across our hands, upon our faces

Come again with the feet
That were light on the green as a thistledown ball

Come live with me, and be my love
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands and crystal brooks
With silken lines and silver hooks

Come not when I am dead
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save

Come thick night...
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry, hold, hold!

Come, thou mortal wretch,
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie.

Come to me in the silence of the night
Come in the speaking silence of a dream
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream
Come back in tears
O memory, hope, love of finished years

Come to my woman's breasts And take my milk for gall

Come unto these yellow sands And then take hands

Come you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts,
Unsex me now
And fill me from the crown to the toe top full
Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood

Come, your answer in broken music, for thy voice is music, and thy English broken. ...

Comme ce Drake, dit-on, qui dînait seul en mer au son de ses trompettes

Comme le fruit se fond en jouissance
Comme en délice il change son absence
Dans une bouche où sa forme se meurt,
Je hume ici ma future fumée,
Et le ciel chante à l'âme consumée
Le changement des rives en rumeur.

Comme un guetteur mélancolique
J'observe la nuit et la mort

Contending
temple bell
winter wind

Cordoba
Lejana y sola.

Cormorant devouring Time

Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together

Cries of wild geese,
rumours
spread about me ISSA

Crow's
abandoned nest
a plum tree BASHO

Cuckoo-echoing,bell-swarmed, lark-charmed,rook-racked, river-rounded

Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight
And burned is Apollo's laurel bough

Cy gist et dort en ce sollier,
Qu'amours occist de son raillon,
Ung povre petit escollier,
Qui fust nommé François Villon.
Oncques de terre n'ot sillon.

Daffodils that come before the swallow dares,
And take the winds of March with beauty

Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste
But with a little, act upon the blood
Burn like the mines of sulphur.

De Cadiz a Gibraltar
qué buen caminito!
El mar conoce mi paso
por los suspiros.
Ay, muchacha, muchacha,
cuanto barco en el puerte de Malaga!

De veoir France, que mon cueur amer doit.

Dear as remembered kisses after death
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
On lips that are for others; deep as love
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful

Death closes all: but something ere the end
Some work of noble note, may yet be done

Death devours all lovely things.

Death has a thousand doors

Death is my heir

Des cloches sonnent dans Paris
Il me semble que c'était avant la guerre

Desarts of vast eternity

Dew of the bramble
thorns
sharp white BUSON

Die Beilschen kichern und kosen
Und schaun nach den Sternen empor;
Heimlich erzählen die Rosen
Sich duftende Märchen ins Ohr.

Die Luft ist kühl, und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fliesst der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.

Die Seele, der im Leben ihr göttlich Recht
Nicht ward, sie ruht auch drunten im Orkus nicht;
Doch ist mir einst das Heil'ge, das am
Herzen mir liegt, das Gedicht gelungen,

Diuturnity is a dream and folly of expectation

Do not expect again a phoenix hour
The triple-towered sky, the dove complaining

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Do you not love me? Do you not indeed?
Well, do not then, for since you love me not
I will not love myself.

Do you think I am easier to be play'd on than a pipe?

Dormeuse, amas doré d'ombres et d'abandons

Dort liegt ein rotblühender Garten
Im stillen Mondenschein;
Die Lotosblumen erwarten
Ihr trautes Schwesterlein.

Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds

Down, thou climbing sorrow!
Thy element's below

Du savant comme du poète, c'est la pensée désintéressé..Car l'interrogation est la même qu'ils tiennent sur un même abîme, et seuls leurs modes d'investigation diffèrent...Au vrai, toute création de l'esprit est d'abord 'poétique' au sens propre du mot..De la pensée discursive ou de l'ellipse poétique, qui va plus loin, et de plus loin? Et de ce nuit originelle où tâtonnent deux aveugles-nés, l'un équipé de l'outillage scientifique, l'autre assisté des seules fulgurations de l'intuition, qui donc plus tôt remonte, et plus chargé de brève phospherescence? La réponse n'importe. Le mystère est commun... Aussi loin que la science recule ses frontières, et sur tout l'arc étendu de ces frontières, on entendra courir encore la meute chasseresse du poète.

Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo
dulce loquentem.

Ego fui sola in silva
Et dilexi loca secreta
Frequenter effugi tumultum
Et vitavi populum multum

Eh bien, j'ai trop vécu
Ah! lâches que nous sommes.
Tous, oui, tous. Adieu, terre, adieu.
Vienne, vienne la mort.

Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,
labuntur anni nec pietas moram
rugis et instanti senectae
adferet indomitaeque morti

El mar conoce mi paso por los sospiros

Elle avait pris ce pli dans son âge enfantin,
De venir dans ma chambre un peu chaque matin
Elle entrait et disait: Bonjour, mon petit père!

Elles infestaient d'idées nouvelles la laine noire des typhons

Empieza el llanto
de la guitarra.
Se rompen las copas
de la madrugada
Empieza el llanto
de la guitarra
Es inutil callarla
Es imposible
callarla.
Llora monotona
como llora el agua
como llora el viento
sobre la nevada
Es imposible
callarla

En regardant vers le pais de France
Ung jour m'avint, … Dovre sur la mer

Endurcis-toi vieux coeur entends les cris perçants
Que poussent les blessés au loin agonisants
Hommes poux de la terre ô vermine tenace.

England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame.

Entends siffler plus haut que mer la horde d'ailes migratices... l'essaim farouche d'une âme trés nombreuse en quête de son lieu..

Enter these enchanted woods

Entre le vide et l'événement pur

Es hüpfen herbei und lauschen
Die frommen, klugen Gazell'n;
Und in der Ferne rauschen
Des heiligen Stromes Well'n.

Et d'ici, nous goûtions le souffle de la mer!

Et dire qu'elle est morte! Hélas! que Dieu m'assiste;
Je n'étais jamais gai quand je la sentais triste

Et l'amertume est douce

Et la lune perfide élève son miroir

Et le poète est avec vous - ses pensées parmi vous comme des tours de guet
Les songes qu'il osa, vous en ferez des actes

Eternity was in our lips and eyes

Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace
Shall ne'er look back ...

Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

Exactly so the same horse plodded on
Dragging the very same sacks
Exactly so by the shaky old mill
The peasants sat on the grass.

Extraprocessit longe
Flammantia moenia mundi

Eye sleeping eye! awaken!
See! the world waits for your attention
Open your emptiness to the fullness of existence
Bite on reality, drain it in,
Let the stars and the grass and my face
Spin into your depths
Ear! dreaming, insensitive ear!
Listen! the music is drifting through the night
The swan's wings beat in the wind

Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon
We have short time to stay, as you
We have as short a Spring
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you or anything

Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

Fear no more the heat o' the sun
Nor the furious winter's rages
Thou thy worldly task has done
Home art gone and ta'en thy wages
Golden lads and girls all must
As chimney-sweepers come to dust.

Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air, and agony with words.

Finish good lady, the bright day is done
And we are for the dark.

Fish say, they have their stream and pond
But is there anything beyond?
But somewhere, beyond space and time,
Is wetter water, slimier slime!

Flesh bridles me, spurs me
The sharp bit guides me, checks me
O the cruel rider of my mind
No free gallopings, no mane flowing in the wind
The ever-growing weight of corporeality weights me down
I am continually galled by the rubs of bone and skin
A centaur corporeally tormented

Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

Fontaine, ma fontaine, eau froidement présente

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.

For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times
Turning th' accomplishment of many years Into an hour glass

For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure

For God's sake let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the deaths of kings.

For my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.

For precious friends, hid in dateless night.

For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes

For Time has burnt away all that was trivial and ugly in the Greek mind
and left us only these noble structures, standing against an eternally blue sky

Forty years -
how sharp
the insect's cry SHIRAO

Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves

Frail as a windflower

Free-willed I fall
Unbound I fly
I aim my life
At multiplicity

Freres humains, qui après nous vivez,
N'ayez les cuers contre nous endurcis

From fairest creatures we desire increase
That thereby beauty's rose might never die

From Fife, great King
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
And fan our people cold

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world

Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea change
Into something rich and strange

furu ike ya! The old pond, ah!
kawazu tobikamu A frog jumps in
Mizu no oto The water's sound!

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Old time is still a-flying
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Give me my robe, put on my crown,
I have Immortal longings in me.

Give me some music music moody food
Of us that trade in love.

Give me to drink mandragora
That I might sleep out this great gap of time

Giving form to the living stuff of the imagination

Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright
But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

Go and catch a falling star
Get with child a mandrake root
Tell me where all past years are
Or who cleft the devil's foot
Teach me to hear mermaids singing
Or to keep off envy's stinging
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind

Go bind up yon dangling apricocks
Which like unruly children make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight ..
Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays
That look too lofty in our commonwealth

Go, lovely Rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,

Go thy ways Kate,
That man i' the world who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in naught be trusted
For speaking false in that

Golden lads and girls all must As chimney sweepers come to dust

Good night sweet prince And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Goodnight, goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow

Grand âge, nous voici, prenez mésure du coeur d'homme

Grands bois, vous m'effrayez commme des cathédrales

Graves only be men's works and death their gain

Green, green, green -
herbs splash
the snow-field RAIZAN

Grief fills the room up of my absent child
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form
Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

Ha ha keep time. How sour sweet music is
When time is broke and no proportion kept.
So is it in the music of men's lives ...

Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment

Had we but world enough and time
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our love's long day
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood
And you should if you choose, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empire and more slow

Half in love with easeful Death

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy

Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us,do we not die?

hatsu shigure First winter rain
suru mo komimo wo The monkey also seems to wish
hoshige nari For a little straw coat
BASHO

Have I not made blind Homer sing to me?

He clasps the crag with crooked hands

He dives into the King's soul

He doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus

He hangs in shades the orange bright
Like golden lamps in a green night

He has out-soared the shadow of our night
He is a portion of that loveliness
Which once he made more lovely

He hath a daily beauty in his life
That makes me ugly

He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd himself.

He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone,
At his head a grass-green turf
At his heels a stone.

He knows death to the bone -
Man has created death

He no more remembers his mother than an eight year old horse.
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.

He who the sword of heaven will bear, should be as holy as severe, pattern in himself to know, ... more nor less to others paying, than by self offences weighing, shame to him whose cruel striking, kills for faults of his own liking

He's speaking now,
Or murmuring, where's my serpent of old Nile

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself.
We may outrun by violent swiftness that which we do run at
And lose by over running.

Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicaean barks of yore
That gently o'er a perfumed sea
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore

Here at the fountain's sliding foot

Here at the small field's ending pause
Where the chalk wall falls to the foam and its tall ledges
Oppose the pluck
And knock of the tide
And the shingle scrambles after the sucking surf
and the gull lodges
A moment on its sheer side

Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea mark of my utmost sail.

Here love ends

Here we are in a world that is hurtling into the future
Seeing reality recede from us like a rocket into space
The stab of light left on our retina

Here will we sit,
And let the sounds of music creep in our ears.
Soft stillness and the night become
The touches of sweet harmony.

Here's flowers for you.
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram:
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun,
And with him rises weeping.

His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.

His mind and hand went together: And what he thought, he uttered with that easinesse, that wee have scarse received from him a blot in his papers. ... for his wit can no more be hid, then it could be lost.

His silver skin laced with his golden blood

Homme nouveau ... : les yeux encore brulés des mouches écarlates de sa nuit

Hommes comme percés d'éclairs

Honneur des Hommes, Saint LANGAGE,

How all occasions do inform against me,
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be to sleep and feed? a beast, no more
Sure he that made us with such large discourse
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unus'd.

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world
That hath such people in 't.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use
As tho' to breathe were life.

How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphires, dreadful trade.

How if that fly had a father and mother?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings
And buzz lamenting doings in the air
Poor harmless fly
That with his pretty buzzing melody
Came here to make us merry, and thou hast killed him.

How long a time lies in one little word!

How many loved your moments of glad grace
And loved your beauty with love false or true
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you
And loved the sorrows of your changing face

How now Thersites? What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury?

How pregnant sometimes his replies are; a happiness that often madness hits on.

How silver sweet sound lovers' tongues by night

How sour sweet music is
When time is broke, and proportion kept.
So is it in the music of men's lives.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music creep in our ears.
Soft stillness and the night become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit Jessica.
Look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.

How to name the bigger light, and how the less, that burn by day and night.

How ugly night comes breathing at his heels

How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

I am a feather for each wind that blows.

I am about to weep; but thinking that
We are a Queen, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire.

I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart

I am - but what I am, none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me, like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes

I long for scenes where man has never trod -
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept -
There to abide with my Creator, God
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie
The grass below; above, the vaulted sky

I am Duchess of Malfi still.

I am dying, Egypt, dying

I am hungry for revenge
And now I cloy me with beholding

I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog
That I might love thee something

I am sick of this false world

I am the enemy you killed, my friend

I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs

I cared for the shape of sound that their names made in my ears

I cared for the colours the words cast on my eyes

I caught this morning morning's minion

I count religion but a childish toy
And hold there is no sin but ignorance

I fell in love and am still at the mercy of words

I grieve for a lost land, as the gulls swim
Easily on air, parodying pain

I had been happy, if the general camp
Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body
So I had nothing known. O! now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content!
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war.

I have a long journey to take, and must bid the company farewell

I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world ...

I have caught
An everlasting cold. I have lost my voice
Most irrecoverably.

I have come to the borders of sleep
The unfathomable deep
Forest where all must lose
Their way, however straight
Or winding, soon or late,
They cannot choose.

I have desired to go
Where springs not fail
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb
And out of the swing of the sea

I have lived long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces

I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
And falls on the other.

I have supp'd full with horrors

I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking

I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee

I knew a phoenix in my youth

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows
Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine
With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine

I know death hath ten thousand several doors

I lived a million years ago
And am not yet born
This moment now is always

I long to believe in immortality

I look young for your sake

I loved you! That love in me
Is not yet wholly faded.
But let it no more disturb you.
I do not want in any way to grieve you.
I loved you, in silence, in hopelesness.
Now timidly, now jealously I languished
So truly, so tenderly I loved you
God grant another may love you so!

I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high

I remember the black wharves and the slips
And the sea-tides tossing free
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips
And the beauty and mystery of the ships
And the magic of the sea

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot.
Follow your spirit

I shall pass like a cloud on the waves - pitched into my great lake of melancholy

I sing of a maiden that is makeless
King of all kings to her son she bore
He cam also still there his moder was
As dew in April that falleth on the grass

I sit and look at the road
At the grey and gloomy sky
At the lake-shore sloping down
At the distant smoke of villages.

I sit, and play with similes

I tell thee, I am mad in Cressid's love.
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice.

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless

I vibrate in an infinity of mirrors

I wasted time and now doth time waste me

I wear not my dagger in my mouth

I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died they say 'a made a good end.

I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys

Iam nix glaciesque liquescit
Folium et herba virescit
Philomena iam cantat in alto
Ardet amor cordis in antro

If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing that none but fools would keep ... Merely, thou art death's fool ...
Thou art not thyself for thou exists on many a thousand grains that issue out of dust.

If I had had time, I would have made myself remembered

If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly. If th' assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success; that but this blow
Might be the be all and the end all here
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time
We'd jump the life to come.

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour!

If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree it had better not come at all

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought
For nimble thought can jump both land and sea

If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd.

If you can look into the seeds of time
And say which grain will grow and which will not

Il faut gagner ma vie en aimant.

Il n'y a qu'un remède à l'amour: aimer d'avantage.

Il neigeait. On était vaincu par sa conquète.
Pour la première fois, l'aigle baissait la tête.
Sombres jours! l'empereur revenait lentement,
Laissant derrière lui brûler Moscou fumant.

Ille mi par esse deo videtur
ille, si fas est, superare divos,
qui sedens adversus identidem te
spectat et audit
dulce ridentem, misero quod omnis
eripit sensus mihi: nam simul te,
Lesbia, aspexi, nihil est super mi,
Lesbia, vocis.
lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus
flamma demanat, sonitu suopte
tintinant aures, gemina teguntur
lumina nocte.

In dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak'd
I cried to dream again.

In my heart the strong and swelling evil of my conception.

In Nature's infinite book of secrecy

In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild sea banks, and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.

In summertime on Bredon

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone
Snow had fallen
Snow on snow
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago

In the dead vast and middle of the night

In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart

In the gloom of whiteness
In the great silence of snow

In the green shade the coloured phrases
Swoop and glide
In this garden there is sun and wind and the blue sky
The shimmer of leaves in the light
And the birds sing!
Great trees and small bright shrubs

In the quick working forge and working house of thought

In this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise
Into the living sea of waking dreams
Where there is neither life of sense nor joys
But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem

Is it not passing brave to be a King
And ride in triumph through Persepolis?

Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?

Is love a generation of vipers?

Is man no more than this? ... unaccommodated man is such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.

Is there anything beautiful in the world? Is there anything gentle? Is there anything to die loving?

Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half workers?

It goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

It has imagined Virgil, Hector and Cassandra
The sack of Troy and the weeping for Hector

It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.

It is engender'd in the eyes
With gazing fed

It is not poetry but prose run mad

It is the blight man was born for
It is Margaret you mourn for.

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder.

It is to be all made of sighs and tears
It is to be all made of faith and service
It is to be all made of fantasy
All made of passion, and all made of wishes
All adoration, duty, and observance
All humbleness, all patience and impatience
All purity, all trial, all obeisance.

It rains and nothing stirs within the fence
Anywhere through the orchard's dense
Forest of parsley. The great diamonds
Of rain on the grassblades

It was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast
It was the time of roses
We plucked them as we past

It was the nightingale, and not the lark
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings upon yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale

It were all one
That I should love a bright particular star
And think to wed it

It's no go my honey-love, it's no go my poppet

It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow

Item, mon corps je donne et laisse
A nostre grant mere la terre

J'ai plus de souvenirs que si j'avais mille ans

J'ay bonnes rains, ce m'est vis,
Bon dos, bon cul de Paris,
Cuisses et gambes bien faictes;
Sui je, sui je, sui je belle?

J'ay dur sain et hault assis,
Lons bras, gresles doys aussis,
Et par le faulz sui greslette;
Dittes moy se je suis belle.

Jaca negra, luna grande,
y aceitunas en mi alforja
Aunque sepa los caminos
yo nunca llegara a Cordoba.

Je hay l'Anglois mutin, et le brave Escossais,
Le traistre Bourguignon, et l'indiscret François

Je sui gaye et foliette;
Dittes moy se je suis belle.

Je suis en toi le secret changement

Je suis la rose
Fraîche et mi-close
Je me marie
Je suis flétrie

Je suis un lys
Vienne mon fils
La blanche fleur
Penche et se meurt.

Je surgis de ma profonde absence!

Judicious punishment; 'twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters my daughter
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh

kare eda ni A branch shorn of leaves
karasu no tomari keri A crow perching on it -
aki no kure This autumnal eve

Karissima, noli tardare
Studeamus nos nunc amare

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them

kusa mura ya Among the grasses,
na mo shiranu An unknown flower
shiroku saku Blooming white

L'éclat insoutenable du langage

L'alliance mystèrieuse et extra-juste des idées ou des mots.

L'ardente migration d'abeilles - une âme nombreuse en quête de son lieu

L'homme est le grand abîme - pupille ouverte sur l'abîme
Agrandissement de l'oeil aux plus hauts mers intérieures

L'insect nette gratte la sécheresse

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté
Luxe, calme et volupté

Lève la tête, homme du soir.
La grand rose des ans tourne à ton front serein

La fuente y el arroyo
de la cancion aneja.

La glaive arma ton bras, fille grande et sublime

La Horde des Siècles a passé là
L'Océan des choses nous assiège

La luna gira en el cielo
sobre las tierras sin agua
mientras el verano siembra
rumores de tigre y llama.

La niña de bello rostro
esta cogiendo aceitunas
El viento, galan de torres,
la prende por la cintura
Pasaron cuatro jinetes
sobre jacas andaluzas
con trajes de azul y verde
con largas capas oscuras
Vente a Cordoba muchacha
La niña no los escucha

La plus veritable profoundeur est la limpide

La rosa
no buscaba la rosa
Inmovil por el cielo
buscaba otra cosa.

La rosa
no buscaba ni ciencia ni sombra:
confin de carne y sueno
buscaba otra cosa.

La royne Blanche comme lis,
Qui chantoit à voix de seraine;
Berte au grant pié
Et Jehanne, la bonne Lorraine,
Qu'Englois brulerent à Rouen
Où sont elles,Vierge souvraine?
Mais où sont les neiges d'antan!

Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Lay your sleeping head, my love
Human on my faithless arm

Le coeur dur, l'oeil distrait des beautés que je bats,
Laissant autour de moi mûrir des cercles d'onde,
Je veux à larges coups rompre l'illustre monde
De feuilles et de feu que je chante tout bas.

Le gentil rossignolet
Doucelet
Découpe dessous l'ombrage
Mille fredons babillars
Frétillars
Au doux chant de son ramage

Le Mathématicien en quête d'une issue au bout de ses galéries de glace

Le messager de mort ...
Remplissant de mon nom ces longs corridors sombres

Le poème - cette hésitation prolongée entre le son et le sens.

Le vent se lève. Hâte-toi. La voile bat au long du mât.. La brise mène au bleu du large ses couleuvres d'eau verte.

Le vent se lève! ... il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!

Le vrai rongeur, le ver irréfutable
N'est point pour vous qui dormez sous la table
Il vit de vie, il ne me quitte pas!

Leñador,
Cortame la sombra
Librame del suplicio
de verme sin toronjas.

Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing else holds fashion.

Les flûtes sauvages du malheur

Les routes de Musique et de Poésie se croisent.

Les songlots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone.

Les tambours du néant cèdent aux fifres de lumière. Et l'Océan, de toutes parts, foulant son poids de roses mortes,
Sur nos terrasses de calcium lève sa tête du Tétrarque!

Les yeux encore brûlés des mouches écarlates de sa nuit

Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them...
And have we not affections,
Desires for sport and frailty, as men have?

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come

Let me sometimes dance
With you
Will you come?
Will you ride
At my side
O, will you come?

Let the famished flesh slide from the bone
Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs
What thou deniest to men. Let prisons swallow 'em
Debts wither 'em to nothing

Let the question burn in you
Be reflected in the million mirrors of the mind

Let us all sing fancy's knell I'll begin it,
Ding, dong, bell.

Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run

Let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings

Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs
Make dust our paper and write with rainy eyes
With sorrow on the bosom of the earth
Let's choose executors and talk of wills

Leur vol est connaissance, l'espace est leur aliénation

Life, being weary of these worldly bars
Never lacks power to dismiss itself

Light thickens and the crow
Makes wing to th' rooky wood

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
His mind moves upon silence

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end:
Each changing place with that which goes before
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Like plumtrees that grow crooked over standing pools

Like to the Pontick sea
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne'er feels retiring ebb but keeps due on
To the Propontic and the Hellespont

Look long at the flower
Listen long to the wind
Listen long to the wind in the leaves
We are moving on
We are moving on.

Look, stranger, on this island now
The leaping light for you discovers,
Stand stable here
And silent be
That through the channels of the ear
May wander like a river
The swaying sound of the sea

Look thy last on all things lovely,
Every hour

Looking on darkness which the blind do see
They look into the beauty of thy mind

Lord Angelo; a man whose blood is very snow broth;

Love ...
That cordial drop heaven in our cup has thrown
To make the nauseous draught of life go down

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Love goes towards love as schoolboys from their books
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs
What is it else? A madness most discreet
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

Love is ane fervent fire
Kindled without desire
Short pleasure, long displeasure

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind

Love not yourselves; away
Rob one another

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.

Lugete, Veneres Cupidinesque,
et quantum est hominum venustiorum,
passer mortuus est meae puellae,
passer, deliciae meae puellae
quem plus illa oculis suis amabat:

Lust and liberty
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive
And drown themselves in riot

Mad as the sea and wind when both contend
Which is the mightier

Mad in pursuit, and in possession so,
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme
A bliss in proof, and prov'd, a very woe.

Magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn

Mais moi, Narcisse aimé. Je ne suis curieux
Que de ma seule essence
Tout autre n'est qu'absence.

Makes black night beauteous

Man has never been the same since God died.

Man is what it is
Sink mines into it
Minds sink into it
Towards the centre it gets hotter and heavier
Things start to change
The pressure compels novelty

Man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep.

Me tamen urit amor

Memory fades, must the remembered
Perishing be?

Mer antèrieure à notre chant - Mer ignorance du futur

Mer hantée du songe vrai

Mes mots viennent de loin

Methought I heard a voice cry, sleep no more.
Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath
Balm of hurt minds,great nature's second course
Chief nourisher to life's feast
Stili it cried, sleep no more

Might there not be a charity in sin to save this brother's life?

Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avoit desclose
Sa robe de pourpre au Soleil,
A point perdu ceste vesprée
Les plis de sa robe pourprée
Et son teint au vostre pareil

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire,
et quod vides perisse perditum ducas.
fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles,
cum ventitabas quo puella ducebat
amata nobis quantum amabitur nulla.
ibi illa multa tum iocosa fiebant
quae tu volebas nec puella nolebat.
fulsere vere candidi tibi soles.

mizu soko na Under the water
iwa ni ochitsuku On the rock resting
kono ha kana The fallen leaves

Mon cri de vivant sur la chaussée des hommes de ma race

Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe à la douceur
D'aller là-bas vivre ensemble!
Aimer à loisir
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble!

Moonlit night -
by melon flowers,
fox sneezes SHIRAO

More of your conversation would infect my brain

Mountains and hills, come fall on me
And hide me from the heavy wrath of God

Movement rests still in time
Reality locks together past and future
Everything Here: Everytime Now

Moving
deep into mist
chrysanthemums SAMPU

Music do I hear? Ha ha keep time.
How sour sweet music is
When time is broke and no proportion kept.
So is it in the music of men's lives ...
This music mads me. Let it sound no more.

Music that gentlier on the spirit lies
Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweet war not, joy delights in joy
If the true concord of well tuned sounds
By unions married, do offend thine ear
Mark how one string, each husband to another,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing,
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one

Music when soft voices die
Vibrates in the memory
Odours when sweet violets sicken
Live within the sense they quicken

Must you sacrifice your body to your mind?

My apprehensions come in crowds;
I dread the rustling of the grass
The very shadows of the clouds
Have power to shake me as they pass

My brain I'll prove the female to my soul my soul the father, and these two beget A generation of still breeding thoughts.

My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense as though of hemlock I had drunk

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar

My heart is like a singing bird

My inch of taper will be burnt and done
And as the long divorce of steel falls on me
The net has fallen upon me.
I shall perish under device and practice.

My little body is aweary of this great world

My long sickness
Of health and living now begins to mend

My love is of a birth as strange
As tis for object strange and high
It was begotten by despair
Upon impossibility.

My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Shall with their goat feet dance an antic hay

My mother groaned, my father wept
Into the dangerous world I leapt
Helpless, naked, piping loud
Like a fiend hid in a cloud

My mother had a maid called Barbary
She was in love, and he she loved proved mad

My name is Ozymandias, king of kings
look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains.

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares
my feast of joy is but a dish of pain
My crop of corn is but a field of tares
And all my good is but vain hope of gain
The day is past and yet I saw no sun
And now I live and now my life is done

My soul into the boughs does glide

My soul, like to a ship in a black storm
Is driven, I know not whither

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

Nana, niño, nana
de caballo grande
que ni quiso el agua
Duermete, clavel
que el caballo no quiere beber.

Near the mill, which is old and shaky,
Some peasants sit on the grass.
A farmcart with a broken-down horse
Moves slowly, heaped with sacks.

Ni vu ni connu
Je suis le parfum
Vivant et défunt
Dans le vent venu!

Night frost
pulsing wings
of mandarin ducks SOGI

Night's candles are burnt out

No doubt the wind knows what it is doing
No doubt the word knows what it is doing

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

No one ever was so fair
As I thought you
Not a word can I bear
Spoken against you

No one so much as you
Loves this my clay
Or would lament as you
Its dying day

Nobilis, mei
Miserere precor
Tua facies
Ensis est quo necor
Nam medullitus
Amat meum te cor
Subveni
Amor improbus
Omnia superat
Subveni

Non piu andro per campi odorosi
Non piu l'arancio
Mi guardera con occhi dorati
Nemmeno il vento per me
Vorra la tua mano afiorare
Va tutta in fumo la contrada
Comincia l'invierno degli anni
Dei ricordi de triste follia

Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade

Nor the furious winter's rages

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair,, not feast on thee

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come

Not poppy, nor mandragora
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday.

Nothing is here for tears

Notre stance est legère sur le charroi des ans

Nought but the vast sorrow was there -
The sweet cheat gone.

Nous avions rendezvous avec le fin d'un âge

Nous n'irons plus au bois, les lauriers sont coupés

Nous voici sur nos routes sans bornes

Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd

Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night
The hum of either army stilly sounds ...
Steed threatens steed in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and, from the tents,
The armourers accomplishing the knights
With busy hammers closing rivets up

Now hast thou but one bare hour to live
And then thou must be damned perpetually
Stand still you ever-moving spheres of heaven
That time may cease, and midnight never come.
Fair nature's eye, rise, rise again and make
Perpetual day, or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.
O lente lente currite noctis equi:
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike
The devil will come and Faustus must be damn'd.
O I'll leap up to my God: who pulls me down?
See see where Christ's blood streams in the firmanent
One drop would save my soul, half a drop, ah my Christ.

Now is the time for the slaughtering of trees

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York

Now, my eye's the world
Now a perfect sphere
Through time hurled
Glittering, coldly here.

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;

Now slides the silent meteor on

Now to be with you, elate, unchecked
My kestrel joy

Now we see we have grasped only a fragment
Tunnel-vision of a universe
Robbed by our finity and minuteness

Nur einen Sommer gönnt, ihr Gewaltigen!
Und einen Herbst zu reifem Gesange mir,
Das williger mein Herz, vom süssen
Spiele gesättiget, dann mir sterbe.

O aching time! O moments big as years!

O beaux yeux bruns, o regards destournez
O chaus souspirs, o larmes respandues
O noires nuiz vainement attendues
O jours luisans vainement retournez!

O body swayed to music, O brightening glance
How can we know the dancer from the dance?

O-botaru A huge firefly
yurari-yurari Waveringly
tori keri Passes by

O brave new world,
That has such people in't.

O Courbes, méandre,
Secrets du menteur,
Est-il art plus tendre
Que cette lenteur?

O curse of marriage
That we can call these delicate creatures ours and not their appetites.

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon
Irrecoverably dark

O diamonds of the mind! O my diamond girl!
O diamond flashing, vibrating at the centre of my brain!

O fins d'automnes, hivers, printemps trempés de boue,
Endormeuses saisons! je vous aime et vous loue

O flexanima atque omnium regina rerum Oratio

O for the dreaming, enchanting, incantatory voice!
The drift of music through the words
The murmur of all repose
Rest and sweetness
The warmth of half-asleep
Drowned in honey
The sweet remembered years

O fraicheur, ô fraicheur retrouvée parmi les sources du langage

O full of scorpions is my mind

O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts.

O good my lord, no Latin; I am not such a truant since my coming As not to know the language I have lived in. ... Pray speak in English.

O grande âme, il est temps que tu formes un corps!

O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out,
Against the wrackful siege of battering days

O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing, and giving odour.

O King, consider! My sons, be heroes!

O last regret, regret can die!

O little self, within whose smallness lies
All that man was and is and will become
Atom unseen that comprehends the skies
And tells the tracks to which the planets roam;
That without moving knows the joys of wings
The tiger's strength, the eagle's secrecy
And on the level can consort with kings
To clothe a God with his own mystery.

O litus vita mihi dulcius, o mare! felix
cui licet ad terras ire subinde meas!
o formosa dies! hoc quondam rure solebam
Naiadas alterna sollicitare manu!
hic fontis lacus est, illic sinus egerit algas:
haec statio est tacitis fida cupidinibus.
pervixi: neque enim fortuna malignior unquam
eripiet nobis quod prior hora dedit.

O mémoire, prends souci de tes roses de sel

O Mer, fulguration durable! Miroir offerte à l'Outre-songe!

O Mer sans âge ni raison
O Mer sans hâte ni saison
Mer antèrieure à notre chant

O Mer sans gardes ni clôtures, ô Mer sans vignes ni cultures,
où s'étend l'ombre cramoisie des Grands!

O Mer sans hardes ni clôtures
O Mer sans vignes ni cultures

O mistress mine! where are you roaming?

O mon silence! ... Edifice dans l'âme

O, my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June

O now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind ....
Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war

O Proserpina!
For the flowers now that frighted thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty, violets dim
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
in the howling storm

O serments! ô parfums! ô baisers infinis!

O she doth teach the torches to burn bright
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl

O sir, you are old.
Nature stands in you on the very verge Of his confine.
You should be ruled ...

O soul, be changed into little water drops
And fall into the ocean, ne'er be found;
My God, my God, look not so fierce on me!

O tell me where is fancy bred

O that I were a glove upon that hand
That I might touch that cheek.

O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.

O those dove's eyes Which can make gods forsworn?

O thou weed
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst never been born.

O toi que j'eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais

O tourbillons de poussière

O Unicorn among the cedars
To whom no magic charm can lead us
White childhood moving like a sigh
through the green woods unharmed in thy
Sophisticated innocence

O very mad, exceeding mad, in love too. But he would bite none.

O weep for Adonais!

O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful in the contempt and anger of his lip!

O what a noble mind is here o'erthrown
The expectancy and rose of the fair state
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form
The observed of all observers, quite, quite, down!

O what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,

O who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? ...
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?

O who could have foretold
That the heart grows old?

O withered is the garland of the war
The soldiers' pole is fallen; young boys and girls
Are level now with men; the odds is gone

O! call back yesterday, bid time return

ô mutisme des forts

Odi et amo: quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

Of glass shining, of purest water
Facets and shadows, faces flowing, flowering
Regular translation of ever-changing light
Seeing and being, the glass, the river flowing
A star in the crystal infinitely multiplied
Cool and without taste the mind's clear water
Lightning in the dark, lightening of the heart
Structure of feeling, structure of perception
Seeing in the sunlight, the sun-light

Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries
roves back the rose

Oh! how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness
through another man's eyes.

Old men forget, yet all shall be forgot
But he 'll remember with advantages.
What feats he did that day.

Old men of less truth than tongue

Once and a million times we acquired language to master our world

One that loved not wisely, but too well

Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass

Or est poème ce qui ne se peut résumer. On ne résume pas une mélodie.

Ose l'abîme!

Others abide our question. Thou art free
We ask and ask: thou smilest and art still
Out-topping knowledge

Oui, ce fut un long temps d'attente et de sécheresse, où la mort nous guettait à toutes chûtes de l'écrit. Et l'ennui fut si grand, parmi nos toiles peintes, l'écoeurement en nous si grand, derrière nos masques, de toute l'oeuvre célébrée!

Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners

Our dreadful marches changed to delightful measures
Grim visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front
And now ... he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

Our King has all the Indies in his arms

Our myriad-minded Shakespeare

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And like the baseless fabric of this vision

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought

Out of the shot and danger of desire

Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night

Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more.

Out you mad headed ape, a weasel hath not such a deal of spleen as you are tossed with. In faith, I'll know your business, Harry

Outward! Mind beyond mind
All to be transformed
All to be preserved

Over the rutted, muddy road
Beside the fishermen's dripping nets
The carriage travels on
And I sit there and dream.
There is a boy playing a pipe
He has made it from a green stalk.
Startled, wild ducks in flight
Over the lake call and cry.
Near the tumbledown old mill
Some peasants sit on the grass.
A farmcart with a broken-down horse
Moves slowly, heaped with sacks.
Oh! It all seems so familiar!
But I have never been here before.
The roof of that house in the distance
The boy, the trees over there, the water flowing.
All of this has happened before
But when? I cannot remember!

Pale primroses that die unmarried,
Ere they can behold bright Phoebus in his strength

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Peau de panthère et chlamyde trouée
De mille et milles idoles du soleil

Penché contre un grand fleuve, infiniment mes rames
M'arrachent à regret aux riants environs;
Ame aux pesantes mains, pleines des avirons,
Il faut que le ciel cède au glas des lentes lames.

Pity's sleeping

Plate sin with gold
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.

Play with your fancies, and in them behold
Upon the hempen tackle, ship boys climbing
Hear the shrill whistle.
Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe

Poetry is both perception and the thing perceived

Poetry is one garden
Where petals lie on petals
Old roses bloom again
In newly-opened eyes
Ancient apples blossom
In our springing year
Shakespeare's golden rain
Revives the inert earth

Poetry is real if it moves mountains

Poor harmless fly
That with his pretty buzzing melody
Came here to make us merry, and thou hast killed him.

Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

Por el llano, por el viento,
jaca negra, luna roja,
La muerte me esta mirando
desde las torres de Cordoba

Por el llano, por el viento,
jaca negra, luna roja,
La muerte me esta mirando
desde las torres de Cordoba

Porque naci entre espejos?

Pray, do not mock me
I am a very foolish fond old man

Premier, je donne ma povre ame
A la benoiste Trinité

Present time and remotest past
All history spent and yet to come
My grave at the end of this line
Beside my birthplace

Profondeurs, profondeurs, songes qui me voyez

Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, devidant et filant,
Direz chantant mes vers, en vous esmerveillant:
Ronsard me celebroit du temps que j'estois belle.

Que m'importe que tu sois sage?
Sois belle! et sois triste! Les pleurs
Ajoutent un charme au visage,
Comme le fleuve au paysage:
L'orage rajeunit les fleurs.

Que tienes en tus manos
de primavera?
Una rosa de sangre
y una azucena.

Quel pur travail de fins éclairs consume
Maint diamant d'imperceptible écume,
Et quel paix semble se concevoir!
Ouvrages purs d'une éternelle cause,
Le Temps oscille et le Songe est savoir.

Quien te enseno el camino
de los poetas?

Quiero dormir el sueño de las manzanas

Quiero vivir sin verme
!Ay que trabajo me cuesta
quererte como yo te quiero!

Quis color ille vadis, seras cum propulit umbras
Hesperus et viridi perfudit monte Mosellam!
tota natant crispis iuga motibus et tremit absens
pampinus et vitreis vindemia turget in unda.

Rain in the leaves, better than music
A blue haze drifts over the roses
The rich earth has many possibilities
Of leaf and stem and fruit
A spring of language after a long winter

Raised by that curious engine, your white hand.

Rattle his bones over the stones

Reason thus with life: if I do lose thee, I do lose a thing that none but fools would keep ... Merely, thou art death's fool ... Thou art not thyself for thou exists on many a thousand grains that issue out of dust.

Reflected
In the dragonfly's eye
Mountains

Resurgam!

Rians vairs yeulx, qui mon cuer avez pris

Rise up and call a mountain Popocatapepl
And a green-leafed wood Oleander

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May

Rougir d'être la Pythie...

Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen
In the remembrance of a weeping Queen

Sabrina fair
Listen where thou are sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair

Se hâter, se hâter, l'angle crôit

Se ha llenado de luces
mi corazon de seda
de campanas perdidas
de lirios y de abejas
y yo me ire muy lejos
mas alla de esas sierras
mas alla de los mares
cerca de las estellas
para pedirle a Cristo
Señor que me devuelva
mi alma antigua de nino
madura de leyendas
con el gorro de plumas
y el sable de madera.

Se souvent vais au moustier
C'est tout pour veoir la belle
Fresche com rose nouvelle

Se ven desde las barandas
por el monte, monte, monte,
mulos y sombras de mulos
cargado de girasoles

Sea-wave, mountain-wave, mind-wave
Pluck of wind through these cold thoughts
Crash of the avalanche of water
Tumbling spume of rocks and words
In these wastes to die
Thirsting in the midst of water
Dry thoughts, dying thoughts
Skating down the mountain-sides
Scree foaming, death on green precipices
Beyond these waves, beyond all idea
In the valleys that surely rest beyond
There is peace perhaps, there is joy
End of the salt-agony
An end of fire and stones
Ending of this torrent of dust

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
close bosom friend of the maturing sun

Secrètes araignées
Dans les ténébres de toi

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand
O that I were a glove upon that hand

See this small one, tiptoe on
The green foothills of the years

Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.
Dar'st thou die
The sense of death is most in apprehension,
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.

Seldom in these acres is heard any voice
But voice of cold water running here and there

Send out moe horses, skirr the country round
Hang those that talk of fear

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs

She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved

She is the violet
The daisy delectable
The columbine commendable
The jelofer amiable

She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

She should have died hereafter
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.

She speaks poniards, and every word stabs

She stains the time past, lights the time to come

She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudy climes and starry skies
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes

She wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France

Short swallow-flights of song

Si la plage penche, si
L'ombre sur l'oeil s'use et pleure
Si l'azur est larme, ainsi
Au sel des dents purs affleure
La vierge fumée où l'air
Que berce en soi puis expire

Sick on a journey -
over parched fields
dreams wander on

Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat ein wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.

Silvia, rimembri ancora
quel tempo della tua vita mortale
Quando beltea splendea
negli occhi tuoi ridenti et fuggitivi

Sin of self love possesseth all mine eye [for you are my other self]

Since brass, nor stone, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out,
Against the wrackful siege of battering days
When rocks impregnable are not so stout
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?
O fearful meditation, where alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
O what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me

Sing, Ariel, sing
Sweetly, dangerously,
Out of the sour
And shiftless water
Lucidly out
Of the dozing tree
Entrancing, rebuking
The raging heart
With a smoother song
Than this rough world
Unfeeling god

Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care
The death of each day's life, sore labour;s bath
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears

So all day long the noise of battle rolled
Among the mountains by the winter sea

So it will never come again
So long desired, so long imagined
Those dark eyes are gone
The mirror of that smile has shattered
All the wrestling of the memory and brain
Cannot draw back one moment
The echo has perished
Drowned in the hum of nothing
What is left is a shape of grief
Something to stumble over
A stone with sharp edges
What is left is a few words
Dried up, shrivelled, powdery
Words that tasted sweet
Many harvests ago

So many gardens, so many times
The dreaming gold of summer afternoons
The moon's crystal garden
Apple boughs hanging heavy in the sun
Formal gardens where the spirit sleeps
Sleeping and waking gardens

So many worlds, so much to do

So now prosperity begins to mellow
And drop into the rotten mouth of death

So quick bright things come to confusion

Soft stillness and the night become the touches of sweet harmony.

Soleil, soleil, regarde en toi rire mes ruches!

Souffle, songes, silence, invincible accalmie

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine.
Vienne nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Speculate the universe and enjoy the whole world in the hermitage of thyself

Stabbed with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love song

Stars, stars! And all else dead coals.

Such labour'd nothings

Such sand-storms and ice-blasts of words

Such summer birds are men

Sui je, sui je, sui je belle?
Il me semble, a mon avis,
Que j'ay beau front et doulz viz
Et la bouche vermeilette,
Dittes moy se je suis belle.

Summer grasses,
all that remains
of soldiers' dreams BASHO

Sunt lacrima rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt

Sur les champs nage au loin sa cendre bleue et brune

Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow

Sweet Analytics, tis thou hast ravished me.

Sweet mercy is nobility's truest badge

Sweetest love, I do not go
For weariness of thee
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter Love for me;
But since that I
Must die at last, tis best
To use my self in jest
Thus by feigned deaths to die.

Sweets to the sweet

Sweets with sweet war not, joy delights in joy

Swift has sailed into his rest
Savage indignation there
Cannot lacerate his breast
Imitate him if you dare,
World-besotted traveller; he
Served human liberty.

Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise
Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical, these summer flies
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation
I do forswear them.

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all

Take her up tenderly
Lift her with care
Fashioned so slenderly
Young and so fair

Take thy beak from out my heart

Te vas lejos, muy lejos
del mar y de la terra?

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean

Tell me where is fancy bred.
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished.

Telling them how of nothing love is fashioned
How it is but a movement of the mind

That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea

That every word doth almost tell my name

That he which hath no stomach to this fight
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse
We would not die in that man's company.

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-Those dying generations- at their song
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas

That momentary peace which is a poem

That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once.

That strain again it had a dying fall.
O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.

That this huge stage presenteth naught but shows
When I perceive that men as plants increase

That thou among the wastes of time must go

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd in the water; the poop was beaten gold
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver,
Which to the time of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes.

The beauty of the world; the paragon of animals; O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

The blind man rubs his eyes

The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man

The breeze murmurs in your mind
The wind-flower bends deep within you
Familiar things: dawns and sunsets
Grass and children playing
Low October light
Form new substance in your crystal self.

The carcass of a beauty spent and done

The chameleon's dish: I eat the air.
promise-cramm'd; you cannot feed capons so.

The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmask her beauty to the moon

The created world is but a parenthesis in eternity

The daffodils opened their eyes
And I went by
The sun flashed on a window pane

The dark pines stand against the sky
A snowfall of gold in October light

The devil damn thee black thou cream faced loon

The devil will come and Faustus must be damn'd.
O I'll leap up to my God: who pulls me down?
See see where Christ's blood streams in the
firmament

The earth does not argue
is not pathetic, has no arrangements

The earth hath bubbles as the water has

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, - and prov'd, a very woe;
Before a joy propos'd; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well:
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

The fairest hand I ever touched. O beauty,
Till now I never knew thee! ...

The fire eyed maid of smoky war

The firefly wakens, waken thou with me

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

The glory, jest and riddle of the world

The green elm with one great bough of gold

The green eyed monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.

The gulls opening their scimitars

The heart is a small thing, but desireth great matters.
It is not sufficient for a kite's dinner, yet the whole world is not sufficient for it.

The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar.

The heavenly rhetoric of thine eye

The heron Priested shore

The human animal snarls at time

The imaginary relish is so sweet
That it enchants my sense

The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That for a fantasy and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds.

The interplay of words and silent thought - the poetic phrase is continued in the silence. The silent thought continued in the phrase.

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung

The labyrinthine communings of words

The last poem is the molecular man, the diamond human being, scintillating, moulding the circumambient reality into an unpredictable unity -

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come my friends
Tis not too late to seek a newer world

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman; the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt.

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, strategems and spoils

The mere word's a slave, deboshed on every tomb,
On every grave a lying trophy, and as oft is dumb
Where dust and damned oblivion is the tomb
Of honoured bones indeed.

The moon shines bright: in such a night as this
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents
Where Cressid lay that night

The moon which is risen over Persia

The mountains look on Marathon
And Marathon looks on the sea

The multitudinous sea incarnadine
Making the green one red

The murmuring surge
That on th' unnumbered idle pebbles chafes
Cannot be heard so high.

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves

The night of time far surpasseth the day

The opinion of wisdom is a foul tetter that runs all over a man's body

The peony has fallen
A few scattered petals
Lie on one another

The poet is the one who must not be comforted
Because there is no comfort

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name
Such tricks hath strong imagination

The prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come

The rags of time

The rainbow comes and goes
And lovely is the rose
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair
The sunshine is a glorious birth
But yet I know, where'er I go
That there has passed away a glory from the earth

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.

The rooks are blown about the sky

The setting sun,and music at the close As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last.

The silver, snarling trumpets

The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite, a feeling and a love

The spaceships are leaving
The timeships have found new ways
To a new universe.

The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.

The spider soon begins to lace with its delicacy violence
Soon soon the Autumn rushes on
In a moment the leaves are brown and fallen
The wind's single lash brings age
There is a tenderness about the sun of saying farewell
O how quickly the apples cluster before they fall
The birds are blown across the sky
Latticework shadows stretch on the grass
There is a cool peace coming
In this rough September

The spring in his face is nothing but the engendering of toads

The stampeding years thunder down the valley
The heaving backs of the years go past

The strain of man's bred out
Into baboon and monkey

The subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet
Though to itself it only live and die

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon

The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
Therefore love moderately, long love doth so

The tall forest towers
Its cloudy foliage lowers
Ahead, shelf on shelf

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost

The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind

The trumpets are blowing very far out
Wind blow through my mind

The uncertain glory of an April day

The unfathomable depths of his own oceanic mind

The weariness, the fever amd the fret

The whole universe salted with the flavour of being
Opening the flower of becoming
The ancient trees budding
The vast worlds of rock sprouting life
The nebulae and galaxies winding up novel toys
Throwing off new-coloured sparks

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the ground
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality consumes

The world is too much with us, late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers
Little we see in Nature that is ours

The world to me is like a lasting storm, whirring me from my friends

The world will be thy widow and still weep

The world's great age begins anew
the golden years return

The worst is death and death will have his day

The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive... Down from the waist they are centaurs... Beneath is all the fiends' And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up Let your close fire predominate his smoke Paint till a horse may mire on your face

The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar That spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowelled bowers, this foul swine Lies now even in the centre of this isle

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls

The years like great black oxen tread the world

Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain
In life's uncertain voyage

Then is it sin
To rush into the secret house of death
Ere death dare come to us?

Then old Age and experience, hand in hand
Lead him to Death, and make him understand
After a search so painful, and so long
That all his life he has been in the wrong
Huddled in dirt the reasoning engine lies
Who was so proud, so witty and so wise

There are a sort of men whose visages do cream and mantle like a standing pond, and do a wilful stillness entertain, with purpose to be dressed in an opinion of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, as who should say, I am Sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips let no dog bark.

There are no poets but only poems

There I was not
Tomorrow I am not
Replunged, resumed
In the all-mirroring sea.

There is a boy playing a pipe
He has made it from a green stalk.
Startled, wild ducks in flight
Over the lake call and cry.

There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and miseries.
On such a full sea we are now afloat

There is a willow grows aslant a brook
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream

There is an America of secrets and unknown Peru of nature

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

There is thy gold I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners

There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will bate it.

There was a black hole in my mind
Everything rushed into it nothing escaped from it
Did anything new happen in it?

There was a time when meadow, grove and stream
The earth and every common sight
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light
The glory and the freshness of a dream

There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned

There's daggers in men's smiles

There's husbandry in heaven Their candles are all out

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirit looks out
At every joint and motive of her body.

There's no art
To find the mind's construction in the face

There's nothing of so infinite vexation
As man's own thoughts.

Therefore love moderately,long love doth so

These are but wild and whirling words.

These are the ghosts of invisible things
There is no Lapland, no Helen and no Hector
And the Reindeer is a darkening of the brain
And Oleander is but Oleander

These fragments have I shored against my ruins

These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstandtial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

These summer flies
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation

They flee from me, that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber
I have seen them gentle, tame and meek
That now are wild

They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes

They look into the beauty of thy mind

They that have power to hurt and will do none
Unmoved, cold and to temptation slow
They are the lords and owners of their faces

Things base and vile, holding no quality,
Love can transpose to form and dignity,
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.

Think when we talk of horses that you see them printing their proud hoofs i' th' receiving earth

This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare
Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie
Open unto the fields and to the sky
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

This fell sergeant, death,
Is swift in his arrest.

This gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought

This holy fox, Or wolf, or both

This is the monstrosity in love, lady,
That the will is infinite and the execution confined;
That the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.

This is the state of man; today he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; tomorrow blossoms
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root

This is the very ecstasy of love

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, which thou tak'st from me.

This - knowing all, governing all
Being all.

This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land

This makes bold mouths. Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts Freeze allegiance in them.

This many summers in a sea of glory,

This music crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
With its sweet air.

This night methinks is but the daylight sick

This precious stone set in the silver sea Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house Against the envy of less happier lands

This rough magic I here abjure. I'll break my staff ... And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars This other Eden, demi paradise This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England

This tiger footed rage

This time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs, which shake against the cold,

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved heaven and earth; that which we are, we are

Thou art a monument without a tomb
And art alive still, while thy book doth live

Thou art my life, my love, my heart
The very eyes of me
And hast command of every part
To live and die for thee

Thou art the thing itself;
unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime

Thou bleeding piece of earth

Thou hast nor youth nor age;
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both

Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whipst her.

Though I sang in my chains like the sea

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower

Though the night was made for loving
And the day returns too soon
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon

Through the sharp hawthorn blow the winds

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.

Thy breast .. that is my home of love

Tigers, not daughters

Till tir'd he sleeps and life's poor play is o'er

Time bites off our heads as we fecundate

Time comes
Time goes
All the world knows
That love is momentary
Days pass
Nights pass
All the world knows
That flesh is grass
You come, you go
I only know
I love you dearly
Beauty goes
Beauty goes
I only know
I love you dearly

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.

Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past

Time's eunuch and not breed one work that wakes
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain

Time's thievish progress to eternity

Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood...

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry

Tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.

Tis the infirmity of his age; Yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.

To hang weights upon the wings of the wind seems far more intelligible -
than the union of spirit and body

To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

To hold in the hollow of your hand
All that god could understand
To situate the human race
In a frame of time and space
This the climbing mind's pursuit
This the tree of knowledge fruit
This - knowing all, governing all
Being all.

To live a barren sister all your life
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon

To move wild laughter in the throat of death?

To stab at half an hour of my life

To take her in her heart's extremest hate,
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of my hatred by ...
And yet to win her?

To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain

Today the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and tomorrow they,
Made England India; every man that stood
Showed like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all gilt

Too like the lightning
Which does cease to be
Ere one can say, it lightens.

Too much of water hast thou poor Ophelia.

Tossed on the glittering air, they soar and skim

Tout le corps humain présent sous la voix

Très grand arbre mendiant qui a fripé son patrimoine, face brulé
d'amour et de violence où le desir encore va chanter
Ha! très grand arbre de langage, peuplée d'oracles, de maximes
murmurant murmures d'aveugle-né, dans les quinconces du savoir

Tristes airains, temps sonores,
Que dites-vous de l'avenir?

Trust not the physician His antidotes are poison and he slays More than you rob

tsuri-gane ni On the temple bell
tomarite nemuru Perched sleeping
kocho kana A butterfly

Tu descens là bas foiblelette,
Pasle, maigrelette, seulette,
Dans le froid royaume des mors

Tu penches, grand Platane, et te proposes nu

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Un doblar de campanas
perdidas en la niebla

Un grondement de l'âme sans tanière

Un homme n'est qu'un poste d'observation dans l'étrangeté

Un poème n'est jamais achevée- c'est toujours un accident qui le termine

Unarm, Eros, the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep.

Und immer weht der Wind, und immer wieder
Vernehmen wir und reden viele Worte
Und spüren Lust und Müdigkeit der Glieder.

Und Kinder wachsen auf mit tiefen Augen
Die von nichts wissen, wachsen auf und sterben
Und allen Menschen gehen ihre Wege.

Und süsse Fruchte werden aus den herben
Und fallen nachts wie tote Vögel nieder
Und liegen wenig Tage und verderben.

Und Strassen laufen durch das Gras, und Orte
Sind da und dort, voll Fackeln, Bäumen, Teichen,
Und drohende, und totenhaft verdorrte ...

Under cherry trees
there are
no strangers

Une esclave aux longs yeux chargés de molles chaînes
Change l'eau de mes fleurs

Zénith
Tous ces regrets
Ces jardins sans limites
Où le crapaud module un tendre cri d'azur

Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below, above the vaulted sky

Uproar's your only music

Velox etas preterit
studio detenta,
lascivire suggerit
tenera iuventa

Vente a Sevilla, muchacha

Ver etatis labitur,
hiemps nostra properat,
vita dampnum patitur,
cura carnem macerat,
sanguis aret, hebet pectus,
minuuntur gaudia,
nos deterret iam senectus
morborum familia.

Verde que te quiero verde
Verde viento. Verdes ramas
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
elle suena en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fria plata.
Verde que te quiero verde
Bajo la luna gitana
las cosas este mirando
y ella no pueda mirarlas.

Vienne nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Violets, dim, but sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, or Cytherea's breath;

Voces de muerte sonaron
cerca del Guadalquivir
Voces antiguas que cercan
voz de clavel varonil

Was frommt das alles uns und diese Spiele,
Die wir doch gross und evig einsam sind
Und wandernd nimmer suchen irgend Ziele?

Was frommts, dergleichen viel gesehen haben?
Und dennoch sagt der viel, der 'Abend' sagt,
Ein Wort, daraus Tiefsinn und Trauer rinnt

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you

Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since?
And wakes it now to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely?

Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!
Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!

Water that toils no more
Dangles white locks
Only the idle foam
Of water falling
Changelessly calling
Where men once had a workplace

We are in no cul-de-sac
What union of number, music, word,
What new mingling, of eye, hand and brain,
Is slowly finding out out its possibility?

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep

We are the hollow men

We are the music makers
We are the dreamers of dreams
We are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

We have some old crabtrees here at home that will not
Be grafted to your relish.

We regret our future non-existence
Our absence from that distant galaxy
Not comforted by any fantasy
Nothing would content us but presence

Western wind, when wilt thou blow
The small rain down can rain
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again

What a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

What ho! Slave! Caliban! Thou most lying slave, whom stripes may move, not kindness. I have used thee, filth as thou art, with human care

What is a man If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.
Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unused.

What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?

What is the world, O soldiers?
It is I:
I, this incessant snow,
This northern sky;
Soldiers, this solitude
Through which we go
Is I

What is this life, if full of care
We have no time to stand and stare?

What mattered was the sound of them And these words were , to me, as the notes of bells, the sounds of musical instruments, the noises of wind, sea and rain, the rattle of milkcarts, the clopping of hooves on cobbles, the fingering of branches on a window pane, might be to someone, deaf from birth, who has miraculously found his hearing.

What vain, unnecessary things are men!

What, weeping ripe, my lord Northumberland.

What will consolidate in time we cannot guess
Our predictions prove our limitations
We hanker after the future
The structure of our minds condemns us to insatiable hunger
We reach only for what is out of reach
What we have we no longer want
Where we are is where we do not wish to be
We float up on a wave which breaks us
Before we even see it break

What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons as I pass
Insnar'd with flowers, I fall on grass

What? Are the clouds no longer magnificent?

What's Montague? It is not hand nor foot
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belong to a man, O be some other name.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet

What's past, and what's to come is strew'd with husks
And formless ruin of oblivion.

What's this dull town to me?
Robin's not near

What's this flesh? A little crudded milk, fantasticall puff-paste!

When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy, over the dale,

When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady smocks all silver white
And cuckoo buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight

When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall
And she caught me in her arms long and small
Therewith all sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, 'Dear heart how like you this?'

When I am dead, good wench
Let me be used with honour; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife, to my grave.

When I am forgotten, as I shall be
And sleep in dull cold marble

When I consider how my light is spent
E're half my days, in this dark world and wide
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless

When I lie where shades of darkness
Shall no more assail mine eyes

When I set out for Lyonesse
A hundred miles away
The rime was on the spray
And starlight lit my lonesomeness

When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in the pail ...
And greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When in the chronicle of wasted time

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.

When that I was and a little tiny boy
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain
A foolish thing was but a toy
For the rain it raineth every day

When the mind's free, the body's delicate

When these old woods were young
The thrushes' ancestors
As sweetly sung
In the old years.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughts
I summon up remembrance of things past
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,
For precious friends, hid in dateless night.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore bemoaned moan.

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep

When you do dance, I wish you
A wave of the sea

Where I may wallow i' the lily beds

Where in the brain, what in the brain
Is the pattern we unwind into words?
Where in the brain, what in the brain
Is the pattern we unravel into music?

Where the bee sucks, there suck I
In a cowslip's bell I lie.

Where we are is Hell
All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

Where youth grows pale and spectre-thin and dies

Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade

Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night

White lotus,
the monk draws back his blade.

Who would have thought the old man had so much blood in him?

Why should we in the compass of a pale
Keep law and form, and due proportion
Showing as a model our firm estate
When our sea walled garden, the whole land
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up
Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined
Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?

Why should'st thou hate men? They never flattered thee

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it

Why what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me.

Wicker chair
in pine-tree's shade
forsaken

Wie schwerer Honig aus den hohlen Waben.

Wild air, world-mothering air
Nestling me everywhere

Willkommen dann, o Stille der Schattenwelt!
Zufrieden bin ich, wenn auch mein Saitenspiel
Mich nicht hinabgeleitet;einmal
Lebt ich, wie Götter, und mehr bedarf's nicht.

Wintry day,
on my horse
a frozen shadow

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile
Filths savour but themselves....

Wise men know well enough
What monsters you make of them

Wish me good speed
For I am going into a wilderness

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls

With too much blood and too little brain, these two may run mad

Words ...Windy attorneys to their client woes ...
Poor breathing orators of misery
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain

Words -
I know
You are light as dreams
Tough as oak
Precious as gold
As poppies and corn
Or an old clock

World-losers and world-forsakers

Wound me not with thine eye

Wozu sind diese aufgebaut? und gleichen
Einander nie? und sind unzählig viele?
Was wachselt Lachen, Weinen und Erbleichen?

Ya nos dejas cantando
en la plazuela
!Arroyo claro
fuente serena!

Ye elves of hills. of brooks, standing lakes, and groves,
And ye, that on the sands, with printless foot,
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi puppets, that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make

Yet I'll not shed her blood,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put ou