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White in the moonlight, Wet with dew, We have known the languor Of being two.…
Aldous Leonard Huxley (26 July 1894 – 22 November 1963) was an English writer and one of the most prominent members of the famous Huxley family. Best known for his novels including Brave New World and a wide-ranging output of essays, Huxley also edited the magazine Oxford Poetry, and published short stories, poetry, travel writing, film stories and scripts. Huxley spent the later part of his life in the United States, living in Los Angeles from 1937 until his death. Aldous Huxley was a humanist, pacifist, and satirist, and he was latterly interested in spiritual subjects such as parapsychology and philosophical mysticism. He is also well known for advocating and taking psychedelics. By the end of his life Huxley was widely acknowledged as one of the pre-eminent intellectuals of his time and respected as an important researcher into visual communication and sight-related theories as well.)
Aldous Huxley şiirleri
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HOW clear under the trees, How softly the music flows, Rippling from one still pool to another Into the lake of silence.
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Once more the windless days are here, Quiet of autumn, when the year Halts and looks backward and draws breath Before it plunges into death.…
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Old ghosts that death forgot to ferry Across the Lethe of the years - These are my friends, and at their tears I weep and with their mirth am merry.…
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We who are lovers sit by the fire, Cradled warm 'twixt thought and will, Sit and drowse like sleeping dogs In the equipoise of all desire,…
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We judge by appearance merely: If I can't think strangely, I can at least look queerly. So I grew the hair so long on my head That my mother wouldn't know me,…
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(To J.S.) Still life, still life ... the high-lights shine…
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My close-walled soul has never known That innermost darkness, dazzling sight, Like the blind point, whence the visions spring In the core of the gazer's chrysolite……
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Many are the doors of the spirit that lead Into the inmost shrine: And I count the gates of the temple divine, Since the god of the place is God indeed.…
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Noonday upon the Alpine meadows Pours its avalanche of Light And blazing flowers: the very shadows Translucent are and bright.…
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There is a country in my mind, Lovelier than a poet blind Could dream of, who had never known This world of drought and dust and stone…
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(From the French of Stéphane Mallarmé.) I would immortalize these nymphs: so bright…
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Dear absurd child- too dear to my cost I've found- God made your soul for pleasure, not for use: It cleaves no way, but angled broad obtuse, Impinges with a slabby-bellied sound…
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Her eyes of bright unwinking glaze All imperturbable do not Even make pretences to regard The justing absence of her stays,…
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My firm belief is, that Pizarro Received education at Harrow - This alone would suffice, To account for his vice,…
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