Edwin Muir

(15 May 1887 – 3 January 1959 / Orkney / Scotland)

Edwin Muir Poems

1. They Could Not Tell Me Who Should Be My Lord 4/1/2010
2. Reading In Wartime 4/1/2010
3. The Days 4/1/2010
4. The Transfiguration 4/1/2010
5. The Angel And The Girl 4/1/2010
6. Robert The Bruce (To Douglas In Dying) 4/1/2010
7. The Killing 4/1/2010
8. The Confirmation 4/1/2010
9. Abraham 1/3/2003
10. The Fathers 1/3/2003
11. Scotland 1941 1/3/2003
12. The Incarnate One 1/3/2003
13. The Combat 1/3/2003
14. In Love For Long 1/3/2003
15. The Animals 1/3/2003
16. Circle And Square 1/3/2003
17. The Child Dying 1/3/2003
18. Horses 4/1/2010
19. Scotland's Winter 1/3/2003
20. The Good Man In Hell 1/3/2003
21. Merlin 1/3/2003
22. The Castle 1/3/2003
23. The Horses 1/3/2003

Comments about Edwin Muir

  • Penis Willy (9/10/2013 4:42:00 AM)

    it would help if you had eyes

    10 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
  • J Deakin (10/4/2009 6:17:00 AM)

    I cannot make a comment about Edwin Muir if I cannot read his poem! !

  • J Deakin (10/4/2009 6:15:00 AM)

    I cannot make a comment about Edwin Muir if I cannot read his poem! !

Best Poem of Edwin Muir

The Horses

Barely a twelvemonth after
The seven days war that put the world to sleep,
Late in the evening the strange horses came.
By then we had made our covenant with silence,
But in the first few days it was so still
We listened to our breathing and were afraid.
On the second day
The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.
On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,
Dead bodies piled on the deck. On the sixth day
A plane plunged over us into the sea. Thereafter
Nothing. The radios dumb;
And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,
And stand, ...

Read the full of The Horses


The rivulet-loving wanderer Abraham
Through waterless wastes tracing his fields of pasture
Led his Chaldean herds and fattening flocks
With the meandering art of wavering water
That seeks and finds, yet does not know its way.
He came, rested and prospered, and went on,
Scattering behind him little pastoral kingdoms,
And over each one its own particular sky,
Not the great rounded sky through which he journeyed,

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