Peter Russell

(1921-2003 / Bristol)

Peter Russell Poems

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Best Poem of Peter Russell

In The Campo De La Bragola

Sleep, sleep, with thy broken keys
Till Pilate wash his hands -
The time is cracked and memory flees
Bright afternoons of other lands.

What were thy once-tuned strings,
Childhood and fluting boy? -
Mornings of swift protecting wings,
Noons flecked with joy.

Blindly the hunter bat the twilight scours
In the dark enclosure of the Square;
Green fissured bronze rings out the hours -
The crowding ghosts halt on the stair.

Barbarian night creeps on the town.
The Councillors sit late.
Tiresias has rent his gown,
And the sentries...

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Berlin December

The air is very cold and still,
The factory-roofs remotely gleam;
The frost has etched the window-sill
With leaves and twigs as in a dream.

The atmosphere is saturated
With snow that's waiting in the sky -
Its white will be precipitated
And drop down lightly from on high-

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