See, as the carver carves a rose,
A wing, a toad, a serpent's eye,
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I.
Moonlight silvers the tops of trees,
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Southeast, and storm, and every weathervane
shivers and moans upon its dripping pin,
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Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
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Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind
announces autumn, and the equinox
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It is a shabby backdrop of bright stars: one of the small interstices of time:
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While the blue noon above us arches, And the poplar sheds disconsolate leaves,
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Through that window—all else being extinct
Except itself and me—I saw the struggle
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She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
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The white fog creeps from the cold sea over the city,
Over the pale grey tumbled towers,—
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One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
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The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
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I read the primrose and the sea
&
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In Memory Of. In Fondest Recollection Of.
In Loving Memory Of. In Fond
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Goya drew a pig on a wall.
The five-year-old hairdresser’s son
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‘My towers at last!’—
What meant the word
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Harsh, harsh, the maram grass on the salt dune,
seen by the cricket’s eye against the harbor moon,
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Begotten by the meeting of rock with rock,
The mating of rock and rock, rocks gnashing together;
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We will go no more to Shaemus, at the Nip,
for sly innuendo and an Oporto Flip,
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Absolute zero: the locust sings:
summer’s caught in eternity’s rings:
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Grasshopper
grasshopper
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The house in Broad Street, red brick, with nine rooms
the weedgrown graveyard with its rows of tombs
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When you are not surprised, not surprised,
nor leap in imagination from sunlight into shadow
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Light your cigarette, then, in this shadow,
And talk to her, your arm engaged with hers.
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One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
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Up high black walls, up sombre terraces,
Clinging like luminous birds to the sides of cliffs,
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The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
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Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
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Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers
The golden lights go out . . .
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The round red sun heaves darkly out of the sea.
The walls and towers are warmed and gleam.
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