Since we are what we are, what shall we be But what we are? We are, we have Six feet and seventy years, to see The light, and then resign it for the … - Stephen Spender

"Daybreak"

At dawn she lay with her profile at that angle
Which, when she sleeps, seems the carved face of an angel.
Her hair a harp, the hand of breeze follows
And plays, against the white cloud of the pillows.
Then, in a flush of rose, she woke, and here eyes that opened
Swam in blue through her rose flesh that dawned.
‘My dream becomes my dream,’ she said, ‘come true.
I waken from you to my dream of you.’
Oh, my own wakened dream then dared assume
The audacity of her sleep. Our dreams
Poured into each other’s arms, like streams.

Through man’s love and woman’s love
Moons and tides move
Which fuse those islands, lying face to face.
Mixing in naked passion,
Those who naked new life fashion
Are themselves reborn in naked grace.

No one Shall hunger: Man shall spend equally. Our goal which we compel: Man shall be man.