Allen Tate Quotes

Lest darkness fall and time fall In a long night when learned arteries Mounting the ice and sum of barbarous time Shall yield, without essence, perfect accident. We are the eyelids of defeated caves.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Meaning of Death."
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With sighs more lunar than bronchial, Howbeit eluding fallopian diagnosis, She simpers into the tribal library and reads That Keats died of tuberculosis . . .
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Bored to Choresis."
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Give me this day a faith not personal As follows: The American people fully armed With assurance policies, righteous and harmed, Battle the world of which they're not at all.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. More Sonnets at Christmas (l. 29-32). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
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At twelve I was determined to shoot only For honor; at twenty not to shoot at all; I know at thirty-three that one must shoot As often as one gets the rare chance— In killing there is more than commentary.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Meaning of Life."
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So face with calm that heritage And earn contempt before the age.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Brief Message."
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Get up and once again politely lying Invite the ladies toward the mistletoe With greedy eyes that stare like an old crow.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet. More Sonnets at Christmas (l. 17-19). . . Collected Poems, 1919-1976 [Allen Tate]. (1989) Louisiana State University Press.
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there's a kind of lust feeds on itself Unspoken to, unspeaking; subterranean As a black river full of eyeless fish Heavy with spawn; with a passion for time Longer than the arteries of a cave.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Meaning of Life."
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Three centuries of piety Grown bare as a cottonwood tree ...
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Brief Message."
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The dreary flies, lazy and casual, Stick to the ceiling, buzz along the wall. O heart, the spider shuffles from the mould Weaving, between the pinks and grapes, his pall.
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "Mother and Son."
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Let us lie down once more by the breathing side Of Ocean, where our live forefathers sleep As if the Known Sea still were a month wide— Atlantis howls but is no longer steep!
Allen Tate (1899-1979), U.S. poet, critic. "The Mediterranean."
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