quotes from classic

"... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay."

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All, men my madmen, the unwholesome wind With whistler's cough contages, time on track...

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And these poor nerves so wired to the skull Ache on the lovelorn paper....

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Let the soil squeal I am the biting man And the velvet dead inch out.

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And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray....

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Neither by night's ancient fear, The parting of hat from hair,...

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Some dead undid their bushy jaws, And bags of blood let out their flies;...

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I died before bedtime came But my womb was bellowing...

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He holds the wire from this box of nerves Praising the moral error...

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Lie still, sleep becalmed, sufferer with the wound In the throat, burning and turning.

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Being innocent, he dreaded that he died Hating his God, but what he was was plain: An old kind man brave in his burning pride.

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But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art.

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The hand that signed the paper felled a city; Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,...

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Too proud to die; broken and blind he died The darkest way, and did not turn away,...

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Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.

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Who blows death's feather? What glory is colour? I blow the stammel feather in the vein....

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On almost the incendiary eve Of deaths and entrances ...

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The old forget the grief, Hack of the cough, the hanging albatross, Cast back the bone of youth....

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When the morning was waking over the war He put on his clothes and stepped out and he died....

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Heaven is high, Earth Wide. Bitter between them flies my sorrow.

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