PolyArchive

The White Birds William Butler Yeats I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee; And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, Has awakened in […]

yours is the music for no instrument E.E. Cummings yours is the music for no instrument yours the preposterous colour unbeheld –mine the unbought contemptuous intent till this our flesh merely shall be excelled by speaking flower (if I have made songs it does not greatly matter to the sun, nor will rain care cautiously […]