(...) to move nothing and to touch nothing
as though I were a ghost or here in a dream
and I know it is a dream that has no age
in this dream the same river is still here
the house is the old house and I am here in the morning
in the sunlight and the same bird is singing
W.S. Merwin, from The Other House in “Garden Time"
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(...) to that feeling of isolation I was accustomed: it did not oppress me much.
Charlotte Bronte, from Jane Eyre
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I hang my harp upon a tree,
A weeping willow in a lake;
(...)
Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent heart, lie still and break:
Christina Rossetti, from Mirage in “The Complete Poems Of Christina Rossetti”
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Alfred Lord Tennyson, from The Lady Of Shalott in “The Works Of Alfred Lord Tennyson”
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(...) bright May shone unclouded over the bold hills and beautiful woodland out of doors. [The] garden, too, glowed with flowers: hollyhocks had sprung up tall as trees, lilies had opened, tulips and roses were in bloom; (...)
Charlotte Bronte, from Jane Eyre
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my love was always
woven with leaving
W.S. Merwin, from Variations To The Accompaniment Of A Cloud in “Garden Time"
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Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Stevie Smith, from Not Waving But Drowning in “Poetry Foundation”
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(...) her heart clutched again with the pain of loss, as if an old, half-healed wound had been struck.
Ruth Ware, from The Death Of Mrs Westaway
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spring journeys and their eoching good-byes
W.S. Merwin, from Ripe Seeds Falling in “Garden Time"
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(...) the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; (...)
Charlotte Bronte, from Jane Eyre
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There are spirits that come back to us
when we have grown into another age
we recognize them just as they leave us
we remember them when we cannot hear them
W.S. Merwin, from Voices Over Water in “Garden Time"
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Today, mid-February where the wind is full of snow
that will not fall, (...)
Joanna Klink, from Wonder Of Birds in “Raptus”
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Kiss it goodbye, the body
that was once yours.
It's off and running,
it's rolled in furs, it's dancing
or bleeding out in a meadow.
You didn't need it anyway,
it attracted too much attention.
Better with only a shadow.
Someone wants your shadow.
Margaret Atwood, from Shadow in “Dearly: New Poems"
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(...) what a punishing business it is, simply being alive.
Sarah Waters, from The Little Stranger
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the ghosts go in under the walnut trees
older than anyone I remember
they were standing there long before I was born
and now as the daylight fills the hollow rows
the old trees gather the shadow under themselves
to guard all day for the dark queen
W.S. Merwin, from Morning Near The End Of May in “Garden Time"
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There were bowls of flowers on every table, late-summer roses and bronze chrysanthemums.
Sarah Waters, from The Little Stranger
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(...) I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. Probably not even real.
Mark Z. Danielewski, from House Of Leaves
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