And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.

Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies.

Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire And cast a shadow crab upon the land, By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds, Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, My busy heart who shudders as she talks Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.

And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.

Rage, rage against the dying light

And death shall have no dominion. Under the windings of the sea They lying long shall not die windily; Twisting on racks when sinews give way, Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through; Split all ends up they shan't crack; And death shall have no dominion.

The best poem is that whose worked-upon unmagical passages come closest, in texture and intensity, to those moments of magical accident.