Clive Staples Lewis

[C.S.] (29 November 1898 – 22 November 1963 / Belfast)

Clive Staples Lewis Poems

1. Alexandrines 3/21/2012
2. Milton Read Again (In Surrey) 3/21/2012
3. Night (Ii) 3/21/2012
4. Tu Ne Quaesieris 3/21/2012
5. Le Roi S’amuse 3/21/2012
6. L’apprenti Sorcier 3/21/2012
7. Night 3/21/2012
8. Ode For New Year's Day 3/21/2012
9. The Spook 3/21/2012
10. The Satyr 3/21/2012
11. The Autumn Morning 3/21/2012
12. Ballade Mystique 3/21/2012
13. Noon 3/21/2012
14. Lullaby 3/21/2012
15. Oxford 3/21/2012
16. Here The Whole World 3/21/2012
17. The Philosopher 3/21/2012
18. Song Of The Pilgrims 3/21/2012
19. How He Saw Angus, The God 3/21/2012
20. The Ocean Strand 3/21/2012
21. The Witch 3/21/2012
22. Our Daily Bread 3/21/2012
23. The Ass 3/21/2012
24. Apology 3/21/2012
25. In Prison 3/21/2012
26. Hymn (For Boys' Voices) 3/21/2012
27. In Praise Of Solid People 3/21/2012
28. To Sleep 3/21/2012
29. World's Desire 3/21/2012
30. The Star-Bath 3/21/2012
31. Irish Nocturne 3/21/2012
32. Victory 3/21/2012
33. Hesperus 3/21/2012
34. The Future Of Forestry 3/21/2012
35. Dungeon Grates 3/21/2012
36. De Profundis 3/21/2012
37. Death In Battle 3/21/2012
38. French Nocturne (Monchy-Le-Preux) 3/21/2012
39. On A Vulgar Error 1/1/2004
40. Prelude To Space 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Clive Staples Lewis

As The Ruin Falls

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love --a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get ...

Read the full of As The Ruin Falls

The Country Of The Blind

Hard light bathed them-a whole nation of eyeless men,
Dark bipeds not aware how they were maimed. A long
Process, clearly, a slow curse,
Drained through centuries, left them thus.

At some transitional stage, then, a luckless few,
No doubt, must have had eyes after the up-to-date,
Normal type had achieved snug
Darkness, safe from the guns of heavn;

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