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- USA lahabali sabira ni lahabali tira (dag)
- ލިޔުންތެރިއެއް (dv)
- file Meiriceánach (ga)
- yhdysvaltalainen runoilija (fi)
- شاعر أمريكي (ar)
- poeta merikano (pap)
- משורר אמריקאי (iw)
- americký básník (cs)
- powèt (ht)
- cyfansoddwr a aned yn 1885 (cy)
- poeta amerykański (pl)
- شاعر آمریکایی قرن بیستم میلادی (fa)
- poeta, ensayista, músico y crítico estadounidense (es)
- American poet and critic (1885–1972) (en)
- Amerikaans dichter (1885-1972) (nl)
- Penyair Amerika (in)
- americký básnik, prozaik a kritik (sk)
- amerikanischer Dichter (de)
- amerikāņu dzejnieks un kritiķis (lv)
- nordamerikansk poet och essäist (sv)
- poeta, assagista, músic i crític estatunidenc (ca)
- poeta, músico e crítico estadounidense (gl)
- poeta, saggista e traduttore statunitense (it)
- poète et critique américain (fr)
- അമേരിക്കൻ കവിയും വിവർത്തകനും (ml)
- (1885–1972) amerikai költő, műfordító, kritikus, szerkesztő (hu)
- Αμερικανός ποιητής και δοκιμιογράφος (el)
- американски поет и критик (bg)
- امریکی شاعر (ur)
- 미국의 시인, 비평가 (1885~1972) (ko)
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- 6.31152E10 (dbd:second)
- A little light, like a rushlight
:::::::To lead back to splendour. (en)
- and the Serpentine will look just the same
and the gulls be as neat on the pond
and the sunken garden unchanged
and God knows what else is left of our London (en)
- At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back. (en)
- And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass. (en)
- I have brought the great ball of crystal;
:::::::Who can lift it?
Can you enter the great acorn of light?
:::But the beauty is not the madness
Tho' my errors and wrecks lie about me.
And I am not a demigod,
I cannot make it cohere. (en)
- The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough. (en)
- You let in the Jew and the Jew rotted your Empire, and you yourselves are by the Jew. (en)
- ----
80px|frameless|left|alt=FOR three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start—
No hardly, but, seeing he had been born
In a half savage country, out of date;
Bent resolutely on wringing lilies from the acorn;
Capaneus; trout for factitious bait;
Ἴδμεν γάρ τοι πάνθ', ὅσ' ἐνι Τροίῃ
Caught in the unstopped ear;
Giving the rocks small lee-way
The chopped seas held him, therefore, that year. (en)
- "Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned
And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers
Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside,
Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes
One hour was sunlit and the most high gods
May not make boast of any better thing
Than to have watched that hour as it passed. (en)
- I am homesick after mine own kind,
Oh I know that there are folk about me, friendly faces,
But I am homesick after mine own kind. (en)
- At fifteen, I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out? (en)
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