Stephen Spender - Poem by Hans Ostrom
When I saw him, his hair was white,
His complexion pink.
He seemed surprised by his own height.
I do not think
Continually of him, but he was great
For those who like
Clear poetry. He was that rare
Creature—an unassuming Modernist.
His sentences persist,
Appear so sure
Of what they know and do not know.
He never seemed to write for show.
His poems and he: sturdy, delicate,
Plain and intricate,
Sober and wise.
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