Collected Poems, 1948-1984 Quotes

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Collected Poems, 1948-1984 Collected Poems, 1948-1984 by Derek Walcott
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Collected Poems, 1948-1984 Quotes Showing 1-6 of 6
Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.”
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems, 1948-1984
“Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other's welcome.

And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you...

Feast on your own life.”
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems, 1948-1984
“Today is Thursday, Vallejo is dying,
but come, girl, get your raincoat, let's look for life
in some cafe behind tear-streaked windows,
perhaps the fin de siecle isn't really finished,
maybe there's a piano playing it somewhere”
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems, 1948-1984
“Love After Love

"The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.”
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems, 1948-1984
“Love After Love"

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.”
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems, 1948-1984
“Bleecker Street, Summer"

Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor,
for the eternal idleness of the imagined return,
for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom
of tangled sheets and the Sunday salt, ah violin!

When I press summer dusks together, it is
a month of street accordions and sprinklers
laying the dust, small shadows running from me.

It is music opening and closing, Italia mia, on Bleecker,
ciao, Antonio, and the water-cries of children
tearing the rose-coloured sky in streams of paper;
it is dusk in the nostrils and the smell of water
down littered streets that lead you to no water,
and gathering islands and lemons in the mind.

There is the Hudson, like the sea aflame.
I would undress you in the summer heat,
and laugh and dry your damp flesh if you came.”
Derek Walcott, Collected Poems, 1948-1984