H. Auden
H. Auden
stars heart men
The desires of the heart are as crooked as corkscrews Not to be born is the best for man The second best is a formal order The dance's pattern, dance while you can. Dance, dance, for the figure is easy The tune is catching and will not stop Dance till the stars come down from the rafters Dance, dance, dance till you drop.
hurt mad ireland
Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
cells convinced
Each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom.
stars moon funeral
The stars are not wanted now, put out every one Pack up the moon & dismantle the sun.
flower fall rain
The sky is darkening like a stain Something is going to fall like rain And it won't be flowers
like-love cant knows
Like love we don't know where or why Like love we cant compel or fly Like Love we often weep Like Love we seldom keep
perseverance believe book
As readers, we remain in the nursery stage so long as we cannot distinguish between taste and judgment, so long, that is, as the only possible verdicts we can pass on a book are two: this I like; this I don't like. For an adult reader, the possible verdicts are five: I can see this is good and I like it; I can see this is good but I don't like it; I can see this is good and, though at present I don't like it, I believe that with perseverance I shall come to like it; I can see that this is trash but I like it; I can see that this is trash and I don't like it.
morning waking hunters
Happy the hare at morning, for she cannot read The hunter's waking thoughts.
mistake drama
Drama is based on the Mistake.
past reality men
Laziness acknowledges the relation of the present to the past but ignores its relation to the future; impatience acknowledge its relation to the future but ignores its relation to the past; neither the lazy nor the impatient man, that is, accepts the present instant in its full reality and so cannot love his neighbour completely.
love-you pms tuesday
I will love you forever" swears the poet. I find this easy to swear too. "I will love you at 4:15 pm next Tuesday" - Is that still as easy?
wall silence sides
All the rest is silence On the other side of the wall, And the silence ripeness, And the ripeness all.
silly book jealous
A writer, or at least a poet, is always being asked by people who should know better: “Whom do you write for?” The question is, of course, a silly one, but I can give it a silly answer. Occasionally I come across a book which I feel has been written especially for me and for me only. Like a jealous lover I don’t want anybody else to hear of it. To have a million such readers, unaware of each other’s existence, to be read with passion and never talked about, is the daydream, surely, of every author.
lying night dust
Defenceless under the night Our world in stupor lies; Yet, dotted everywhere, Ironic points of light Flash out wherever the Just Exchange their messages: May I, composed like them Of Eros and of dust, Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair, Show an affirming flame.