Стихи и эссе

You’re a long way off becoming a saint
So long as you suffer from any complaint;
But, if you don’t, there’s no denying
The chances are that you’re not trying.

5

I am afraid there is many a spectacled sod
Prefers the British Museum to God.

6

I'm beginning to lose patience
With my personal relations:
They are not deep,
And they are not cheap.

7

Those who will not reason
Perish in the act;
Those who will not act
Perish for that reason.

8

Let us honor if we can
The vertical man,
Though we value none
But the horizontal one.

9

'These had stopped seeking
But went on speaking,
Have not contributed
But have diluted.

These ordered light
But had no right,
These handed on
War and a son.

Wishing no harm
But to be warm,
These fell asleep.
On the burning heap.

10

Private faces
In public places
Are wiser and nicer
Than public faces
In private places.

* * *

I'm beginning to lose patience
With my personal relations:
They are not deep,
And they are not cheap.

* * *

Thoughts of his own death,
like the distant roll
of thunder at a picnic.

* * *

Bound to ourselves for life,
we must learn how to
put up with each other.

* * *