From the Book - Regular Print
When once the twilight locks no longer
A process in the weather of the heart
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Where once the waters of your face
If I were tickled by the rub of love
Especially when the October wind
When, like a running grave
From love's first fever to her plague
Light breaks where no sun shines
All all and all the dry worlds lever
Shall gods be said to thump the clouds
Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo's mouth
The hand that signed the paper
I have longed to move away
And death shall have no dominion
Because the pleasure-bird whistles
I make this in a warring absence
When all my five and country senses see
It is the sinners' dust-tongued bell
Once it was the colour of saying
The tombstone told when she died
If my head hurt a hair's foot
The conversation of prayer
A refusal to mourn the death, by fire, of a child in London
The hunchback in the park
Do not go gentle into that good night
On the marriage of a virgin
In my craft or sullen art
Ceremony after a fire raid
Lie still, sleep becalmed
Ballad of the long-legged bait
In the white giant's thigh.