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Cecil Day Lewis, poet, wearing a three-button, checked overcoat, hands in the pockets, with an umbrella Condé Nast photo by Irving Penn from the Book Nostalgia in Vogue 1951

Cecil Day Lewis, poet, wearing a three-button, checked overcoat, hands in the pockets, with an umbrella Condé Nast photo by Irving Penn from the Book Nostalgia in Vogue 1951

Guy de Maupassant photographed by Félix Nadar,1888

Guy de Maupassant photographed by Félix Nadar,1888

"First Fig  My candle burns at both ends;  It will not last the night;  But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -  It gives a lovely light!"     -Edna St. Vincent Millay

"First Fig My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - It gives a lovely light!" -Edna St. Vincent Millay

Jane Eyre and a Magnolia tree. Can it get any better than this?

Jane Eyre and a Magnolia tree. Can it get any better than this?

“First Fig,” Edna St. Vincent Millay    My candle burns at both ends;  It will not last the night;  But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—  It gives a lovely light.

10 Great Poems You Can Memorize Today

“First Fig,” Edna St. Vincent Millay My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— It gives a lovely light.

Sylvia Plath samen met Ted Hughes

Sylvia Plath samen met Ted Hughes

"Do not go gentle into that good night,  Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light..." Dylan Thomas

"Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light..." Dylan Thomas

philip larkin - Google Search

philip larkin - Google Search

Carson McCullers: Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Carson McCullers: Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Children  Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away.  Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run.

Children Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run.

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