This is the man who classifiedthe bits Of his friends' hells into a pigeonhole He hung each disparate anguish on the spits Parboiled and roasted in his own withering soul. — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
So the poet, who wants to be something that he cannot be, and is a failure in plain life, makes up fictitious versions of… — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
The mission for the day is to encourage students to think beyond traditional career opportunities, prepare for future careers and entrance into the workplace. — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
There is a calm for you where men and women Unroll the chill precision of moving feet. — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
What is the flesh and blood compounded ofBut a few moments in the life of time?This prowling of the cells, litigious love,Wears the long… — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
In an age of abstract experience, fornication Is self-expression, adjunct to Christian euphoria, And whores become delinquents; delinquents, patients; Patients, wards of society. Whores,… — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
With spring the father-sky remakes the world: The male shower has flowed into the bride, Earth's body; then shifted through sky and sea and… — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
Walk in this faithless grass with studious tread, Lest mice, weasels, germane beasts, too soon The tall hat and eyes, the fierce feet, for… — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
Punctilious abyss, the yawn of space Come once a day to suffocate the sight. — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
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… — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
