I am not yet born; O fill me With strength against those who would freeze my humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with one face, a thing — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
I am not yet born; O fill me with strength against those who would freeze my humanity. — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
World is crazier and more of it than we think, Incorrigibly plural. — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“Bagpipe Music' It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw, All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow. Their knickers are made of crêpe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python, Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison. John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share
Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me, otherwise kill me. — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“Thus were we weaned to knowledge of the Will That wills the natural world, but wills us dead.” — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“If war is the test of reality, then all poetry is unreal; but in that case unreality is a virtue.” — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“If war is the test of reality, than all poetry is unreal; but in that case unreality is a virtue.” — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
Why do we like being Irish? Partly because It gives us a hold on the sentimental English As members of a world that never… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
A city built upon mud; A culture built upon profit; Free speech nipped in the bud, The minority always guilty. Why should I want… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
“Cradle Song for Eleanor”: Sleep, my darling, sleep; The pity of it all Is all we compass if We watch disaster fall. Put off your twenty-odd Encumbered years and creep Into the only heaven, The robbers’ cave of sleep. The wild grass will whisper, Lights of passing cars Will streak across your dreams And fumble at the stars; Life will… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share
I was the rector's son, born to the anglican order, Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor; The Chichesters knelt in… — Louis MacNeice Copy Share Image
