Poems Rethabile Likes

When You Are Old by W. B. Yeats | Poems Rethabile Likes When You Are Old by W. B. Yeats When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. ...

Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann Duffy | Poems Rethabile Likes Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann Duffy Somewhere on the other side of this wide night and the distance between us, I am thinking of you. The room is turning slowly away from the moon. This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear. La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross to reach you. For I am in love with you and this is what it is like or what it is like in words. ...

Portrait d'une Femme by Ezra Pound | Poems Rethabile Likes Portrait d'une Femme by Ezra Pound Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, London has swept about you this score years And bright ships left you this or that in fee: Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price. Great minds have sought you—lacking someone else. You have been second always. Tragical? No. You preferred it to the usual thing: One dull man, dulling and uxorious, One average mind—with one thought less, each year. Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit Hours, where something might have floate...

The Truly Great by Stephen Spender | Poems Rethabile Likes The Truly Great by Stephen Spender I think continually of those who were truly great. Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history Through corridors of light, where the hours are suns, Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition Was that their lips, still touched with fire, Should tell of the Spirit, clothed from head to foot in song. And who hoarded from the Spring branches The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms. What is precious, is never to forget The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs Breaking through rocks in wor...

Two Evening Moons by Federico García Lorca | Poems Rethabile Likes Two Evening Moons by Federico García Lorca I [ For Laurita, my sister's friend ] The moon is dead dead — it will come back to life in the spring when a south wind ruffles the brow of the poplars when our hearts yield their harvest of sighs when the roofs wear their grass hats The moon is dead dead — it will come back to life in the spring II [ For Isabelita, my sister ] The evening sings a lullaby to the oranges My little sister sings "the earth is an orange" ...

Behind A Stone Wall by Rethabile Masilo | Poems Rethabile Likes Behind A Stone Wall by Rethabile Masilo Behind a stone wall stands the rest of my father, carrying a book with pages we will never turn. We had buried him in a casket lined with newspapers to keep his face annoyed, because freedom is immortal, he thought. He holds the book like a slab of concrete we should build the rest of our lives on, like someone saying, while lifting the marble off a tomb: here's what's to be dealt with. He looks like himself battling a plough into submission. At the sound of his voice our dog whimp...