Explore "I Know this Vicious Minute's Hour" by Dylan Thomas on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I know this vicious minute's hour; / It is a sour motion in the blood, / That, like a tree, has roots in you, / And buds in you.
Each silver moment chimes in steps of sound, / And I, caught in mid-air perhaps, / Hear and am still the little bird.
You have offended, periodic heart; / You I shall drown unreasonably,
Leave you in me to be found / Darker than ever, / Too full with blood to let my love flow in.
Stop is unreal; / I want reality to hold within my palm,
Not, as a symbol, stone speaking or no, / But it, reality, whose voice I know / To be the circle not the stair of sound.
Go is my wish; / Then shall I go,
But in the light of going / Minutes are mine / I could devote to other things.
Stop has no minutes, but I go or die.