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The Carven Pipe - page #4
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The strange soft-handed depth subdues
drowned colour there, but black to hues,
as death to living, decomposes -
red darkness of the heart of roses,
blue brilliant from dead starless skies,
and gold that lies behind the eyes,
the unknown unnameable sightless white
that is the essential flame of night,
lustreless purple, hooded green,
the myriad hues that lie between
darkness and darkness! .....
O world of lips, O world of laughter,
where hope is fleet and thought flies after,
of lights in the clear night, of cries,
that drift along the wave and rise
thin to the glittering stars above,
you know the hands, the eyes of love!
The strife of limbs, the sightless clinging,
the infinite distance, and the singing
blown by the wind, a flame of sound,
the gleam, the flowers, and vast around
the horizon, and the heights above -
you know the sigh, the song of love!
But there the night is close, and there
darkness is cold and strange and bare;
and the secret deeps are whisperless;
and rhythm is all deliciousness;
and joy is in the throbbing tide,
whose intricate fingers beat and glide
in felt bewildering harmonies
of trembling touch; and music is
the exquisite knocking of the blood.
"The Fish" Rupert Brooke |
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Was this the face that launched 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! -
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
and all is dross that is not Helena.
Christopher Marlowe |
continued - page#5
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