Quote

The day's at end and there's nowhere to go, Draw to the fire, even this fire is dying Get up and once again politely lying Invite the ladies toward the mistletoe.

Allen Tate

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Allen Tate
Age: 79 †
Born: 1899
Born: November 19
Died: 1979
Died: February 9
Author
Literary Critic
Poet
University Teacher
Writer
Winchester
Kentucky
John Orley Allen Tate
Draws
Politely
Toward
Invite
Dying
Ladies
Fire
Invites
Lying
Nowhere
Ends
Christmas
Even
Evening
Draw
Mistletoe

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But in our age the appeal to authority is weak, and I am of my age.
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Genetic theories, I gather, have been cherished academically with detachment.
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Experience means conflict, our natures being what they are, and conflict means drama.
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For intellect is a mansion where waste is without drain.
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Dark accurate plunger down the successive knell Of arch on arch, where ogives burst a red Reverberance of hail upon the dead Thunder like an exploding crucible!
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The innocent mansion of a panther's heart!
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Poets are mysterious, but a poet when all is said is not much more mysterious than a banker.
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There is probably nothing wrong with art for art's sake if we take the phrase seriously, and not take it to mean the kind of poetry written in England forty years ago.
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So face with calm that heritage And earn contempt before the age.
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Struck in the wet mire Four thousand leagues from the ninth buried city I thought of Troy, what we had built her for.
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There's precious little to say between day and dark, Perhaps a few words on the implacable will Of time sailing like a magic barque Or something as fine for the amenities.
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Men expect too much, do too little, Put the contraption before the accomplishment, Lack skill of the interior mind To fashion dignity with shapes of air. Luxury, yes but not elegance!
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Ah, Christ, I love you rings to the wild sky And I must think a little of the past: When I was ten I told a stinking lie That got a black boy whipped.
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Walk in this faithless grass with studious tread, Lest mice, weasels, germane beasts, too soon The tall hat and eyes, the fierce feet, for dead Descry, and fix you prone in their revelling moon.
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Culture is the study of perfection, and the constant effort to achieve it.
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Death's long anabasis.
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Other psychological theories say a good deal about compensation.
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I say that what one loves is best: The midnight fastness of the heart.
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