Quote

And death shall have no dominion. Under the windings of the sea They lying long shall not die windily Twisting on racks when sinews give way, Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through Split all ends up they shan't crack And death shall have no dominion.

Dylan Thomas

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Dylan Thomas
Age: 39 †
Born: 1914
Born: October 27
Died: 1953
Died: November 9
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Abertawe
Dylan Marlais Thomas
Way
Death
Wheels
Snaps
Windings
Running
Sea
Dominion
Shan
Hands
Shall
Split
Sinews
Two
Break
Evils
Strapped
Ends
Dies
Crack
Twisting
Give
Lying
Splits
Racks
Giving
Faith
Wheel
Snap
Long
Evil
Cracks
Unicorn

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And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.
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Though they go mad they shall be sane, though they sink through the sea they shall rise again though lovers be lost love shall not and death shall have no dominion.
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Out of the sighs a little comes, But not of grief, for I have knocked down that Before the agony the spirit grows, Forgets, and cries A little comes, is tasted and found good.
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Beginning with doom in the bulb, the spring unravels.
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... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay.
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Reading one's own poems aloud is letting the cat out of the bag. You may have always suspected bits of a poem to be overweighted, overviolent, or daft, and then, suddenly, with the poet's tongue around them, your suspicion is made certain.
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The photograph is married to the eye, Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth.
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In the beginning was the word, the word That from the solid bases of the light Abstracted all the letters of the void.
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The moment of a miracle is unending lightning.
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[I'm]a freak user of words, not a poet.
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Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision that depends in its intensity on the strength of the labour put into the creation of the poetry.
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Dark is a way and light is a place, Heaven that never was Nor will be ever is always true Poem on His Birthday
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One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
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And from the first declension of the flesh I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts Into the stony idiom of the brain.
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I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
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To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.
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You just wait. I'll sin 'til I blow up!
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The only sea I saw Was the seesaw sea With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.
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It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
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This poem has been called obscure. I refuse to believe that it is obscurer than pity, violence, or suffering. But being a poem, not a lifetime, it is more compressed.
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