It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
Dylan ThomasThis poem has been called obscure. I refuse to believe that it is obscurer than pity, violence, or suffering. But being a poem, not a lifetime, it is more compressed.
Dylan ThomasWhy do men think you can pick love up and re-light it like a candle? Women know when love is over.
Dylan ThomasIn my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art.
Dylan Thomas