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A Summer Night, W. H. Auden, 1933

 

Out on the lawn I lie in bed,

Vega conspicuous overhead

In the windless nights of June ;

Forest of green have done complete

The day's activity ; my feet

Point to the rising moon.

Lucky, this point in time and space

Is chosen as my working place ;

Where the sexy air of summer,

The bathing hours and the bare arms,

The leisured drives through a land of farms,

Are good to the newcomer.

Equal with colleagues in a ring

I sit on each calm evening,

Enchanted as the flowers

The opening light draws out of hiding

From leaves with all its dove-like pleading

Its logic and its powers.

That later we, though parted then,

May still recall these evenings when

Fear gave his watch no look ;

The lion griefs loped form the shade

And on our knees their muzzles laid,

And Death put down his book.

Now north and south and east and west

Those I love lie down to rest ;

The moon looks on them all,

the healers and the brilliant talkers,

The eccentrics and silent walkers,

The dumpy and the tall.

She climbs the European sky,

Churches and power-stations lie

Alike among earth"s fixtures :

Into the galleries she peers

And blankly as a butcher stares

Upon the marvellous pictures.

To gravity attentive, she

Can notice nothing here, though we

Whom hunger does not move,

From gardens where we feel secure

Look up and with a sigh endure

The tyrannies of love :

And, gentle, do not care to know,

Where Poland draws her eastern bow,

What violence is done,

Nor ask what doubtful act allows

Our freedom in this English house,

Our picnics in the sun.

Soon, soon, through dykes of our content

The crumpling flood will force a rent

And, taller than a tree,

Hold sudden death before our eyes

Whose river dreams long hid the size

And vigours of the sea.

But when the waters make retreat

And through the black mud first the wheat

In shy green stalks appears,

When stranded monsters gasping lie,

And sounds of riveting terrify

Their whorled unsubtle ears,

May these delights we dread to lose,

This privacy, need no excuse

But to that strength belong,

As through a child"s rash happy cries

The drowned parental voices rise

In unlamenting song.

After discharges of alarm

All unpredicted let them calm

The pulse of nervous nations,

Forgive the murderer in his glass,

Tough in their patience to surpass

The tigress her swift motion.

Midsummer_s_Night_Dream.7834442.jpg.cf299c7b8c02b09c3cfc2ef97dee1a69.jpg

Οὖτιν με κικλήσκουσι

 

My Optics

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