In the eyes of others a man is a poet if he has written one good poem. In his own he is only a poet at the moment when he is making his last revision to a new poem. The moment before, he was still only a potential poet; the moment after, he is a man who has ceased to write poetry, perhaps forever.
W.H. AudenMots clés writing vocation creation
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
Mots clés love
But round your image
there is no fog, and the Earth
can still astonish.
Small tyrants, threatened by big,
sincerely believe
they love liberty.
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The sky is darkening like a stain
Something is going to fall like rain
And it won't be flowers
Murder is unique in that it abolishes the party it injures, so that society must take the place of the victim, and on his behalf demand atonement or grant forgiveness.
W.H. AudenMots clés society murder atonement
The stars are not wanted now, put out every one
Pack up the moon
Fate succombs many a species. One alone jeopardizes itself.
W.H. AudenSay this city has ten million souls,
Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:
Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us.
Mots clés poetry
The words of a dead man Are modified in the guts of the living.
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