Allen Tate Quotes

I've often wondered why she laughed On thinking why I wondered so; It seemed such waste that long white hands Should touch my hands and let them go.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Edges."
(13) (7)
She, her head back, waited Barbarous the stalking tide; Her, nor balked nor sated But plunged into the wide Area of mental ire, Lay at her wandering side.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Pastoral."
(8) (7)
There are wolves in the next room waiting With heads bent low, thrust out, breathing At nothing in the dark; between them and me A white door patched with light from the hall Where it seems never (so still is the house) A man has walked from the front door to the stair.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Wolves."
(10) (5)
Our loss put six feet under ground Is measured by the magnolia's root; Our gain's the intellectual sound Of death's feet round a weedy tomb.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Elegy."
(9) (6)
Come to me, Jenny, let's dance a bit tonight, The long small tremor's at my back again....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Perimeters."
(4) (0)
I've heard the wolves scuffle, and said: So this Is man; so what better conclusion is there The day will not follow night, and the heart Of man has a little dignity, but less patience Than a wolf's....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Wolves."
(5) (1)
No more the white refulgent streets, Never the dry hollows of the mind Shall he in fine courtesy walk Again, for death is not unkind.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Elegy."
(4) (1)
Hide your pink knees from the gaze of other men. You must be pure—go slow with that home-brew
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Perimeters."
(3) (0)
So this Is man; so—what better conclusion is there— The day will not follow night, and the heart Of man has a little dignity, but less patience Than a wolf's,
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. The Wolves (l. 14-18). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
(3) (0)
Your death, dear Lady, was quite cold For all the brave tears and ultimate spasm. So civilized were your thin hands, I marvel They too, like jelly fishes, came from protoplasm.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Elegy for Eugenesis."
(3) (0)