MORE SONICS
T.S. Eliot
Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Do I dare disturb the universe?
And how should I presume?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed
To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question
Would it have been worthwhile
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtruse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
Mixing memory and desire
I will show you fear in a handful of dust
Are you alive or not? Is there anything in your head?
His vanity requires no response
And makes a welcome of indifference
RRoobert Frost
Robert Frost
The present is too much for the senses/Too crowding, too confusing/Too present to imagine
Winds blow the open grassy places bleak
Something there is that doesn't like a wall
Like profanation, by your leave
There sandy seems the golden sky
By June our brooks run out of song and speed
Robert Frost
The present is too much for the senses/Too crowding, too confusing/Too present to imagine
Winds blow the open grassy places bleak
Something there is that doesn't like a wall
Like profanation, by your leave
There sandy seems the golden sky
By June our brooks run out of song and speed