Allen Tate Quotes

The stage is about to be swept of corpses. You have no more chance than an infusorian Lodged in a hollow molar of an eohippus.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Horatian Epode to the Duchess of Malfi."
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We lay long in the immense tide Of shade and shadowy desire And saw the dusk assail the wall, The black surge, mounting, crash the stone! Companion of this lust, we fall, I said lest we should die alone.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Shadow and Shade."
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The poisoned rat in the wall Cuts through the wall like a knife, Then blind, drying, and small And driven to cold water, Dies of the water of life....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Winter Mask."
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I feared The belly-cold, the grave-clout, that betrayed Me dithering in the drift of cordial seas; Ten years are time enough to be dismayed By mummy Christ, head crammed between his knees.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "I" ("More Sonnets at Christmas").
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May Allah keep her And other wives from me. But this young slave For the Caliph? Well, only her thin mouth to save My soul I can't forget, nor her slack eyes: The oasis of age is sand and lies.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Sinbad."
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I asked the master Yeats Whose great style could not tell Why it is man hates His own salvation, Prefers the way to hell....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Winter Mask."
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Man, dull creature of enormous head, What would he look at in the coiling sky?
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "I" ("Sonnets at Christmas").
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Or would interior time, that could delay The sentence chronic with the last assize, Start running backwards with its timely lies, I might have time to live the love I say....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Sonnet."
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Captains of industry, your aimless power Awakens harsh velleities of time....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "X" ("Sonnets of the Blood").
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This is the day His hour of life draws near, Let me get ready from head to foot for it Most handily with eyes to pick the year For small feed to reward a feathered wit.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "I" ("Sonnets at Christmas").
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