Author: Dylan Thomas

Lie still, sleep becalmed, sufferer with the wound In the throat, burning and turning. All night afloat On the silent […]

Once it was the colour of saying Soaked my table the uglier side of a hill With a capsized field […]

How shall my animal Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull, Vessel of abscesses and exultation’s shell, Endure […]

I dreamed my genesis in sweat of sleep, breaking Through the rotating shell, strong As motor muscle on the drill, […]

I All all and all the dry worlds lever, Stage of the ice, the solid ocean, All from the oil, […]

Sometimes the sky’s too bright, Or has too many clouds or birds, And far away’s too sharp a sun To […]

When I was a windy boy and a bit And the black spit of the chapel fold, (Sighed the old […]

A stranger has come To share my room in the house not right in the head, A girl mad as […]

Never until the mankind making Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darkness Tells with silence the last light […]

When once the twilight locks no longer Locked in the long worm of my finger Nor damned the sea that […]

Too proud to die; broken and blind he died The darkest way, and did not turn away, A cold kind […]

Should lanterns shine, the holy face, Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light, Would wither up, an any boy of […]

The bows glided down, and the coast Blackened with birds took a last look At his thrashing hair and whale-blue […]

Incarnate devil in a talking snake, The central plains of Asia in his garden, In shaping-time the circle stung awake, […]

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage […]

To-day, this insect, and the world I breathe, Now that my symbols have outelbowed space, Time at the city spectacles, […]

On no work of words now for three lean months in the bloody Belly of the rich year and the […]

Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its knees Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the […]

Now Say nay, Man dry man, Dry lover mine The deadrock base and blow the flowered anchor, Should he, for […]

Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes. (Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in […]