Stevie Smith
Stevie Smith
Florence Margaret Smith, known as Stevie Smithwas an English poet and novelist...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth20 September 1902
house poetry ever-after
Coleridge received the Person from Porlock And ever after called him a curse, Then why did he hurry to let him in? He could have hid in the house.
youth hours passing
Youth is an arithmetical statement of passing interest, each hour eats it up.
wish-to-die fancy muse
So I fancy my Muse says, when I wish to die, Oh no, Oh no, we are not yet friends enough, And Virtue also says: We are not yet friends enough.
death thinking goes-on
If there wasn't death, I think you couldn't go on.
unhappy doe speak
Why does my muse only speak when she is uhnhappy? She does not, I only listen when I am unhappy.
soul tolls lions
Oh Lion in a peculiar guise, Sharp Roman road to Paradise, Come eat me up, I'll pay thy toll With all my flesh, and keep my soul.
dark night shy
Into the dark night Resignedly I go, I am not so afraid of the dark night As the friends I do not know, I do not fear the night above As I fear the friends below.
running hands long
The world is come upon me, I used to keep it a long way off, But now I have been run over and I am in the hands of the hospital staff.
tired ideas want
But one wants the idea of Death, you know, as something large and unknowable, something that allows a person to stretch himself out. Especially one wants it if one is tired. Or perhaps what one wants is simply a release from sensation, from all consciousness for ever....
flower ants fruit
The flower and fruit of love are mine The ant, the fieldmouse and the mole
cold drowning moaning
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.
behinds bosoms refined
This Englishwoman is so refined, She has no bosom and no behind.
friendship silence friendly
I only asked my friends to be friendly and polite, I found them indifferent and censorious; The one I left to silence, the other to reproach: God send me over all such friends victorious.
love-is hands bleeding
Love is not love that wounded bleeds And bleeding sullies slow. Come death within my hands and I Unto my love will go.