Clive Staples Lewis

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

Clive Staples Lewis Poems

1. As The Ruin Falls 1/1/2004
2. On Being Human 1/1/2004
3. After Prayers, Lie Cold 1/1/2004
4. Evolutionary Hymn 1/1/2004
5. Science-Fiction Cradlesong 1/1/2004
6. The Condemned 1/1/2004
7. The Meteorite 1/1/2004
8. The Country Of The Blind 1/1/2004
9. An Expostulation 1/1/2004
10. Cliche Came Out Of Its Cage 1/1/2004
11. Re-Adjustment 1/1/2004
12. Prelude To Space 1/1/2004
13. On A Vulgar Error 1/1/2004
14. French Nocturne (Monchy-Le-Preux) 3/21/2012
15. Death In Battle 3/21/2012
16. The Future Of Forestry 3/21/2012
17. De Profundis 3/21/2012
18. Hesperus 3/21/2012
19. In Praise Of Solid People 3/21/2012
20. Hymn (For Boys' Voices) 3/21/2012
21. Dungeon Grates 3/21/2012
22. In Prison 3/21/2012
23. Apology 3/21/2012
24. The Ass 3/21/2012
25. Irish Nocturne 3/21/2012
26. Our Daily Bread 3/21/2012
27. The Star-Bath 3/21/2012
28. Song Of The Pilgrims 3/21/2012
29. How He Saw Angus, The God 3/21/2012
30. The Philosopher 3/21/2012
31. Here The Whole World 3/21/2012
32. World's Desire 3/21/2012
33. To Sleep 3/21/2012
34. The Ocean Strand 3/21/2012
35. Oxford 3/21/2012
36. Lullaby 3/21/2012
37. Ballade Mystique 3/21/2012
38. Noon 3/21/2012
39. Victory 3/21/2012
40. The Satyr 3/21/2012
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

Re-Adjustment

I thought there would be a grave beauty, a sunset splendour
In being the last of one's kind: a topmost moment as one watched
The huge wave curving over Atlantis, the shrouded barge
Turning away with wounded Arthur, or Ilium burning.
Now I see that, all along, I was assuming a posterity
Of gentle hearts: someone, however distant in the depths of time,
Who could pick up our signal, who could understand a story. There won't be.

Between the new Hembidae and us who are dying, already

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