Allen Tate Quotes

And there is nothing in the eye, Shut shutter of the mineral man Who takes the fatherless dark to bed, The acid sky to the brain-pan; And calls the crows to peck his head.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Eye."
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I hoisted up The old man my father upon my back, In the smoke made by sea for a new world Saving little a mind imperishable If time is, a love of past things tenuous As the hesitation of receding love. (To the reduction of uncitied littorals We brought chiefly the vigor of prophecy, Our hunger breeding calculation And fixed triumphs.)
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Aeneas at Washington."
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What was I saying? An Egyptian king Once touched long fingers, which are not anything.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Long Fingers."
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All night long the darling daughter squirms Wild where the Toddle and the Shimmy vie In making passion virtuous and correct....
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Flapper."
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The singular passion Abides its object and consumes desire In the circling shadow of its appetite.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. Aeneas at Washington (l. 27-29). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
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And I have seen long fingers that would stare With fiery eyes, and then the eyes would crawl Deftly across the counterpane and fall Soundless, with a wink of mild despair.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Long Fingers."
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A spade is not a spade, and it is just That any tremulous twisting of her lips Should be mere prettiness, or call it grace The canto amoroso of her hips.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Flapper."
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I myself saw furious with blood Neoptolemus, at his side the black Atridae, Hecuba and the hundred daughters, Priam Cut down, his filth drenching the holy fires.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. Aeneas at Washington (l. 1-4). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
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here in hell We're drinking tea from a Grecian Urn long after Your Paphian Fanny let tubercles quell Ethereal passion: I know it by your laughter!
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Lycambes Talks to John."
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So was produced this tragedy In a far tower of ivory Where, O young men, late in the night All you who drink light and stroke the air Come back, seeking the night, and cry To strict Rapunzel to let down her hair.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Ivory Tower."
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