William Faulkner

 The Race's Splendor The race's splendor lifts her lip, exposes Amid her scarlet smile her little teeth; The years are sand the wind plays with; beneath The prisoned music of her deathless roses. Within frostbitten rock she's fixed and glassed; Now man may look upon her without fear. But her contemptuous eyes back through him stare And shear his fatuous sheep when he has passed. Lilith she is dead and safely tombed And man may plant and prune with naught to bruit Hie heired and ancient lot to which he's doomed, For quiet drowse the flocks when wolf is mute— Ay, Lilith she is dead, and she is

READ MORE >>

There is a victory beyond defeat which the victorious know nothing of. A bourne, a shore of refuge beyond the lost battles, the bronze names and the l

READ MORE >>

I follow through the singing trees Her streaming clouded hair and face And lascivious dreaming knees Like gleaming water from some place Of sleeping streams, or autumn leaves Slow shed through still, love-wearied air. She pauses: and as one who grieves Shakes down her blown and vagrant hair To veil her face, but not her eyes-- A hot quick spark, each sudden glance, Or like the wild brown bee that flies Sweet winged, a sharp extravagance Of kisses on my limbs and neck. She whirls and dances through the trees That life and sway like arms and fleck Her with quick shadows, and the breeze Lies on h

READ MORE >>

SHARE HIGHLIGHT

0 CHARACTERS SELECTED

TWEET THIS

POST TO TUMBLR