(From the French of Rimbaud). When the child’s forehead, full of torments red, Cries out for sleep and its pale host of dreams, His two big sisters come unto his bed, Having long fingers, tipped with silvery gleams. They set him at a casement, open wide On seas of flowers that stir in the blue airs, And through his curls,…
The Life Theoretic By Aldous Leonard Huxley
While I have been fumbling over books And thinking about God and the Devil and all, Other young men have been battling with the days And others have…
The Flowers By Aldous Leonard Huxley
Day after day, At spring’s return, I watch my flowers, how they burn Their lives away. The candle crocus And daffodil gold Drink fire of the sunshine– Quickly cold. And the…
The Elms By Aldous Leonard Huxley
Fine as the dust of plumy fountains blowing Across the lanterns of a revelling night, The tiny leaves of April’s earliest growing Powder the trees–so vaporously light, They seem…
The Defeat Of Youth By Aldous Leonard Huxley
I. UNDER THE TREES. There had been phantoms, pale-remembered shapes Of this and this occasion, sisterly In their resemblances, each effigy Crowned with the same bright hair above…
The Decameron By Aldous Leonard Huxley
Noon with a depth of shadow beneath the trees Shakes in the heat, quivers to the sound of lutes: Half shaded, half sunlit, a great bowl of…
The Alien By Aldous Leonard Huxley
A petal drifted loose From a great magnolia bloom, Your face hung in the gloom, Floating, white and close. We seemed alone: but another Bent o’er you with lips…
Summer Stillness By Aldous Leonard Huxley
The stars are golden instants in the deep Flawless expanse of night: the moon is set: The river sleeps, entranced, a smooth cool sleep Seeming so motionless that…
Stanzas By Aldous Leonard Huxley
Thought is an unseen net wherein our mind Is taken and vainly struggles to be free: Words, that should loose our spirit, do but bind New fetters on…
Song Of Poplars By Aldous Leonard Huxley
Shepherd, to yon tall poplars tune your flute: Let them pierce, keenly, subtly shrill, The slow blue rumour of the hill; Let the grass cry with an anguish…