EppsNet Archive: Stevie Smith

My Soul

Oh feed to the golden fish his egg Where he floats in his captive bowl, To the cat his kind from the womb born blind, And to the Lord my soul. — Stevie Smith, “My Soul” Read more →

Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he’s dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning. — Stevie Smith, “Not Waving But Drowning” Read more →