Others, I Am Not the First

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1. Ice and Fire My love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold, But that I burn […]...
2. Sonnet 30 (Fire And Ice) My love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolv’d through my so hot desire, But harder grows, the more I her entreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not delayed by her heart frozen cold, But that I […]...
3. Marvel of Marvels MARVEL of marvels, if I myself shall behold With mine own eyes my King in His city of gold; Where the least of lambs is spotless white in the fold, Where the least and last of saints in spotless white is stoled, Where the dimmest head beyond a moon is aureoled. O saints, my beloved, […]...
4. The Space Heater On the then-below-zero day, it was on, Near the patients’ chair, the old heater Kept by the analyst’s couch, at the end, Like the infant’s headstone that was added near the foot Of my father’s grave. And it was hot, with the almost Laughing satire of a fire’s heat, The little coils like hairs in […]...
5. The Owl DOWNHILL I came, hungry, and yet not starved, Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof Against the north wind; tired, yet so that rest Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof. Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest, Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I. All of the […]...
6. Sonnet XXX MY loue is lyke to yse, and I to fyre; How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolu’d through my so hot desyre, But harder growes the more I her intreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not delayd by her hart frosen cold: But that I […]...
7. A prayer to the Wind Go thou gentle whispering wind, Bear this sigh; and if thou find Where my cruel fair doth rest, Cast it in her snowy breast, So, enflam’d by my desire, It may set her heart a-fire. Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain, Will reward thee for thy pain: Boldly light upon her lip, There suck odours, […]...
8. John Donne – The Paradox No Lover saith, I love, nor any other Can judge a perfect Lover; Hee thinkes that else none can, nor will agree That any loves but hee; I cannot say I’lov’d. for who can say Hee was kill’d yesterday? Lover withh excesse of heat, more yong than old, Death kills with too much cold; Wee […]...
9. Take Back the Virgin Page Written on Returning a Blank Book Take back the virgin page, White and unwritten still; Some hand, more calm and sage, The leaf must fill. Thoughts come, as pure as light Pure as even you require; But, oh! each word I write Love turns to fire. Yet let me keep the book: Oft shall my […]...
10. Heat O wind, rend open the heat, Cut apart the heat, Rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop Through this thick air Fruit cannot fall into heat That presses up and blunts The points of pears And rounds the grapes. Cut the heat Plough through it, Turning it on either side Of your path....
11. Some, too fragile for winter winds Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses Tenderly tucking them in from frost Before their feet are cold. Never the treasures in her nest The cautious grave exposes, Building where schoolboy dare not look, And sportsman is not bold. This covert have all the children Early aged, and often cold, Sparrow, unnoticed […]...
12. Poor Poet ‘A man should write to please himself,’ He proudly said. Well, see his poems on the shelf, Dusty, unread. When he came to my shop each day, So peaked and cold, I’d sneak one of his books away And say ’twas sold. And then by chance he looked below, And saw a stack Of his […]...
13. A Curse For A Nation I heard an angel speak last night, And he said ‘Write! Write a Nation’s curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea.’ I faltered, taking up the word: ‘Not so, my lord! If curses must be, choose another To send thy curse against my brother. ‘For I am bound by gratitude, By love […]...
14. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
15. The Appology ‘Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule I am alone forbid to play the fool To follow through the Groves a wand’ring Muse And fain’d Idea’s for my pleasures chuse Why shou’d it in my Pen be held a fault Whilst Mira paints her face, to paint a thought Whilst Lamia to […]...
16. Sonnet 153: Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep, A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat still to endure, And grew a seeting bath, which yet men prove Against strange […]...
17. Sonnet CLIII Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep: A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow’d from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange […]...
18. Evening Star ‘Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro’ the light Of the brighter, cold moon, ‘Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold – too cold for me- There pass’d, as a shroud, […]...
19. There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a Temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest. For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the World. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I Cover her against any hurt. Using the pen of rivers and […]...
20. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
21. The Maid's Lament I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check’d him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought, And wearied all my thought To vex myself and him: I now would give My love […]...
22. It Is Later Than You Think Lone amid the cafe’s cheer, Sad of heart am I to-night; Dolefully I drink my beer, But no single line I write. There’s the wretched rent to pay, Yet I glower at pen and ink: Oh, inspire me, Muse, I pray, It is later than you think! Hello! there’s a pregnant phrase. Bravo! let me […]...
23. The Oldest Child The night still frightens you. You know it is interminable And of vast, unimaginable dimensions. “That’s because His insomnia is permanent,” You’ve read some mystic say. Is it the point of His schoolboy’s compass That pricks your heart? Somewhere perhaps the lovers lie Under the dark cypress trees, Trembling with happiness, But here there’s only […]...
24. Golden Days Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain To make of as I may, That done, I shall not see again Until the Judgment Day. Ah, could I, could I backward turn The pages of that […]...
25. The Wind of Sorrow The fire of love was burning, yet so low That in the dark we scarce could see its rays, And in the light of perfect-placid days Nothing but smouldering embers dull and slow. Vainly, for love’s delight, we sought to throw New pleasures on the pyre to make it blaze: In life’s calm air and […]...
26. So You Say It is all in the mind, you say, and has Nothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold, The coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the world. You take my arm and say something will happen, Something unusual for which we were always prepared, Like the sun arriving after a […]...
27. With Tears They Buried You Today With tears they buried you to-day, But well I knew no turf could hold Your gladness long beneath the mould, Or cramp your laughter in the clay; I smiled while others wept for you Because I knew. And now you sit with me to-night Here in our old, accustomed place; Tender and mirthful is your […]...
28. Alfonso Churchill They laughed at me as “Prof. Moon,” As a boy in Spoon River, born with the thirst Of knowing about the stars. They jeered when I spoke of the lunar mountains, And the thrilling heat and cold, And the ebon valleys by silver peaks, And Spica quadrillions of miles away, And the littleness of man. […]...
29. Saddest Poem I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars, And the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.” The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights […]...
30. I Don't Know If You're Alive Or Dead I don’t know if you’re alive or dead. Can you on earth be sought, Or only when the sunsets fade Be mourned serenely in my thought? All is for you: the daily prayer, The sleepless heat at night, And of my verses, the white Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire. No-one was more […]...
31. Tonight I Can Write Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, ‘The night is starry And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’ The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I […]...
32. Divination By A Daffodil When a daffodil I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead; Lastly, safely buried....
33. Song My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish’d air, By love are driv’n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave; Such end true lovers have. His face is fair as heav’n When springing buds unfold; O why to him was’t giv’n Whose heart is wintry cold? His breast is […]...
34. Anna Who Was Mad Anna who was mad, I have a knife in my armpit. When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages. Am I some sort of infection? Did I make you go insane? Did I make the sounds go sour? Did I tell you to climb out the window? Forgive. Forgive. Say not I did. Say […]...
35. To Death (From Lenau.) If within my heart there’s mould, If the flame of Poesy And the flame of Love grow cold, Slay my body utterly. Swiftly, pause not nor delay; Let not my life’s field be spread With the ash of feelings dead, Let thy singer soar away....
36. Amoretti III: The Sovereign Beauty The sovereign beauty which I do admire, Witness the world how worthy to be praised: The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire In my frail spirit, by her from baseness raised; That being now with her huge brightness dazed, Base thing I can no more endure to view; But looking still on her, I stand […]...
37. The Yukoner He burned a hole in frozen muck, He pierced the icy mould, And there in six-foot dirt he struck A sack or so of gold. He burned holes in the Decalogue, And then it cam about, For Fortune’s just a lousy rogue, His “pocket” petered out. And lo! ’twas but a year all told, When […]...
38. We talked as Girls do We talked as Girls do Fond, and late We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave Of ours, none affair We handled Destinies, as cool As we Disposers be And God, a Quiet Party To our Authority But fondest, dwelt upon Ourself As we eventual be When Girls to Women, softly raised We occupy […]...
39. On The Farm There was Dai Puw. He was no good. They put him in the fields to dock swedes, And took the knife from him, when he came home At late evening with a grin Like the slash of a knife on his face. There was Llew Puw, and he was no good. Every evening after the […]...
40. Sonnet XXXV: Some, Misbelieving To Miracle Some, misbelieving and profane in love, When I do speak of miracles by thee, May say, that thou art flattered by me, Who only write my skill in verse to prove. See miracles, ye unbelieving, see A dumb-born Muse made t’express the mind, A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, One […]...