Louis Macneice Quotes

But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire Opens its eight bells out, skulls' mouths which will not tire To tell how there is no music or movement which secures Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures.
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963), Anglo-Irish poet. Sunday Morning (l. 11-15). . . Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company.
(5) (2)
By a high star our course is set, Our end is Life. Put out to sea.
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963), Anglo-Irish poet. Thalassa (l. 17-18). . . New Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1950. Helen Gardner, ed. (1972) Oxford University Press.
(6) (2)
You know the worst: your wills are fickle, Your values blurred, your hearts impure And your past life a ruined church— But let your poison be your cure.
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963), Anglo-Irish poet. Thalassa (l. 9-12). . . New Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1950. Helen Gardner, ed. (1972) Oxford University Press.
(7) (2)
Some on commission, some for the love of learning, Some because they have nothing better to do Or because they hope these walls of books will deaden The drumming of the demon in their ears.
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963), British poet. "The British Museum Reading Room," l. 4-7, Plant and Phantom (1941).
(3) (2)
There seeps from heavily jowled or hawk-like foreign faces The guttural sorrow of the refugees.
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963), Anglo-Irish poet. The British Museum Reading Room (l. 20-21). . . New Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1950. Helen Gardner, ed. (1972) Oxford University Press.
(2) (3)
The earth compels,
Louis MacNeice (1907-1963), Anglo-Irish poet. The Sunlight on the Garden (l. 17). . . New Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1950. Helen Gardner, ed. (1972) Oxford University Press.
(5) (2)