Dylan Thomas
in my craft
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
- :
- Reading His Complete Recorded Poetry
- Pleasure Dome: Modern Poetry Read by its Creators: T.S....
- Poems On the Radio
- His Complete Recorded Poetry
- Dylan Thomas Reading His Complete Recorded Poetry
- Pleasure Dome: Audible Modern Poetry Read by its Creators
- The Caedmon Collection
- The Caedmon Poetry Collection
- Poetry Speaks
- Poetry on Record: 98 Poets Read Their Work, 1888-2006
- Under Milk Wood - A Play for Voices
- In Their Own Voices: A Century of Recorded Poetry
- 100 Great Poems - Classic Poets & Beatnik Freaks
- Ultimate Poetry & Story Collection
- Beat Generation - Music & Poetry
- Poetry On Record
- Favourite Poetry
- Dylan Thomas Reads His Own Poetry
- A Winters Tale - Dylan Thomas Poems
- Reading, Vol. 1