i12bent: W. H. Auden: Lullaby Lay your sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm; Time and fevers burn away Individual beauty from Thoughtful children, and the grave Proves the child ephemeral: But in my arms till break of day Let the living creature lie, Mortal, guilty, but to me The entirely beautiful. Soul and body have no bounds: To lovers as they lie upon Her tolerant enchanted slope In their ordinary swoon, Grave the vision Venus sends Of supernatural sympathy, Universal love and hope; While an abstract insight wakes Among the glaciers and the rocks The hermit’s carnal ecstasy. Certainty, fidelity On the stroke of midnight pass Like vibrations of a bell, And fashionable madmen raise Their pedantic boring cry: Every farthing of the cost, All the dreaded cards foretell, Shall be paid, but from this night Not a whisper, not a thought, Not a kiss nor look be lost. Beauty, midnight, vision dies: Let the winds of dawn that blow Softly round your dreaming head Such a day of welcome show Eye and knocking heart may bless,Find the mortal world enough; Noons of dryness find you fed By the involuntary powers, Nights of insult let you pass Watched by every human love. Above: Photograph of Auden in profile, with inscription “Utopian youth grown old Italian. With love from Wystan” (The Beinecke) View high resolution

i12bent:

W. H. Auden: Lullaby

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit’s carnal ecstasy.

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

Above: Photograph of Auden in profile, with inscription “Utopian youth grown old Italian. With love from Wystan” (The Beinecke)

(Reblogged from i12bent)

Notes

  1. leese-bailey reblogged this from cameliaelias
  2. journalofanobody reblogged this from estuarios
  3. cameliaelias reblogged this from i12bent
  4. internatural reblogged this from thisgameisaplateaux and added:
    W. H. Auden in profile, with inscription “Utopian youth grown old Italian. With love from Wystan” (The Beinecke)
  5. zubuzubu reblogged this from i12bent
  6. thisgameisaplateaux reblogged this from estuarios
  7. estuarios reblogged this from bartleby-company
  8. justpurelyvintage reblogged this from 1bohemian
  9. bartleby-company reblogged this from 1bohemian and added:
    W. H. Auden in profile, with inscription “Utopian youth grown old Italian. With love from Wystan” (The Beinecke)
  10. drinksomemellowwine reblogged this from i12bent
  11. 1bohemian reblogged this from i12bent and added:
    W. H. Auden in profile, with inscription “Utopian youth grown old Italian. With love from Wystan” (The Beinecke)
  12. i12bent posted this