All All And All
I
All
all
and
all
the
dry
worlds
lever,
Stage
of
the
ice,
the
solid
ocean,
All
from
the
oil,
the
pound
of
lava.
City
of
spring,
the
governed
flower,
Turns
in
the
earth
that
turns
the
ashen
Towns
around
on
a
wheel
of
fire.
How
now
my
flesh,
my
naked
fellow,
Dug
of
the
sea,
the
glanded
morrow,
Worm
in
the
scalp,
the
staked
and
fallow.
All
all
and
all,
the
corpse's
lover,
Skinny
as
sin,
the
foaming
marrow,
All
of
the
flesh,
the
dry
worlds
lever.
II
Fear
not
the
waking
world,
my
mortal,
Fear
not
the
flat,
synthetic
blood,
Nor
the
heart
in
the
ribbing
metal.
Fear
not
the
tread,
the
seeded
milling,
The
trigger
and
scythe,
the
bridal
blade,
Nor
the
flint
in
the
lover's
mauling.
Man
of
my
flesh,
the
jawbone
riven,
Know
now
the
flesh's
lock
and
vice,
And
the
cage
for
the
scythe-eyed
raver.
Know,
O
my
bone,
the
jointed
lever,
Fear
not
the
screws
that
turn
the
voice,
And
the
face
to
the
driven
lover.
III
All
all
and
all
the
dry
worlds
couple,
Ghost
with
her
ghost,
contagious
man
With
the
womb
of
his
shapeless
people.
All
that
shapes
from
the
caul
and
suckle,
Stroke
of
mechanical
flesh
on
mine,
Square
in
these
worlds
the
mortal
circle.
Flower,
flower
the
people's
fusion,
O
light
in
zenith,
the
coupled
bud,
And
the
flame
in
the
flesh's
vision.
Out
of
the
sea,
the
drive
of
oil,
Socket
and
grave,
the
brassy
blood,
Flower,
flower,
all
all
and
all.
Dylan Thomas
Dylan Thomas (born October 27, 1914, Swansea, Glamorgan [now in Swansea], Wales—died November 9, 1953, New York, New York, U.S.) Welsh poet and prose writer whose work is known for its comic exuberance, rhapsodic lilt, and pathos. His personal life, punctuated by reckless bouts of drinking, was notorious. Thomas spent his childhood in southwestern Wales. His father taught English at the Swansea grammar school, which in due course the boy attended. Because Dylan’s mother was a farmer’s daughter, he had a country home he could go to when on holiday. His poem “Fern Hill” (1946) describes its joys.