Called Into Play

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1. Time to play It is a pristine page, clean on the blue screen Where I compose, I don’t expect it to stay that way As words glow from blunt, abused fingers, as insistent Sounds in my head translate into sentence structures, As lips articulate the rhythms and the sounds of the Jumbled lexis as swiftly as I can […]...
2. On A Gentlewoman That Sung And Play'd Upon A Lute Be silent you still musique of the Sphears, And every sense make haste to be all ears, And give devout attention to her aires, To which the Gods doe listen as to prayers Of pious votaries; the which to heare Tumult would be attentive, and would swear To keep lesse noise at Nile, if there […]...
3. Dithyramb Believe me, together The bright gods come ever, Still as of old; Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy, Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy, And Phoebus, the stately, behold! They come near and nearer, The heavenly ones all The gods with their presence Fill earth as their hall! Say, how shall […]...
4. Many Are Called The Lord Apollo, who has never died, Still holds alone his immemorial reign, Supreme in an impregnable domain That with his magic he has fortified; And though melodious multitudes have tried In ecstasy, in anguish, and in vain, With invocation sacred and profane To lure him, even the loudest are outside. Only at unconjectured intervals, […]...
5. It was once called it comes like a convict Squeezing through bars And is gone before The promptest siren It suddenly turns In the ear or rides The eye of a thought Before dissolving I have it in a faint Taste or shudder An ache like a spring High in the mountains It was once called love And now […]...
6. Degrees Of Gray In Philipsburg You might come here Sunday on a whim. Say your life broke down. The last good kiss You had was years ago. You walk these streets Laid out by the insane, past hotels That didn’t last, bars that did, the tortured try Of local drivers to accelerate their lives. Only churches are kept up. The […]...
7. Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb SOLID, ironical, rolling orb! Master of all, and matter of fact!-at last I accept your terms; Bringing to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal dreams, And of me, as lover and hero....
8. The Gyres The gyres! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth; Things thought too long can be no longer thought, For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth, And ancient lineaments are blotted out. Irrational streams of blood are staining earth; Empedocles has thrown all things about; Hector is dead and there’s a light in Troy; We […]...
9. Dissolute Many years have I still to burn, detained Like a candle flame on this body; but I enshine A darkness within me, a presence which sleeps contained In my flame of living, her soul enfolded in mine. And through these years, while I burn on the fuel of life, What matter the stuff I lick […]...
10. Lines Written In The Belief That The Ancient Roman Festival Of The Dead Was Called Ambarvalia Swings the way still by hollow and hill, And all the world’s a song; “She’s far,” it sings me, “but fair,” it rings me, “Quiet,” it laughs, “and strong!” Oh! spite of the miles and years between us, Spite of your chosen part, I do remember; and I go With laughter in my heart. So […]...
11. Let Us play Yesterday Let Us play Yesterday I the Girl at school You and Eternity the Untold Tale Easing my famine At my Lexicon Logarithm had I for Drink ‘Twas a dry Wine Somewhat different must be Dreams tint the Sleep Cunning Reds of Morning Make the Blind leap Still at the Egg-life Chafing the Shell When you […]...
12. Two Songs From A Play I I saw a staring virgin stand Where holy Dionysus died, And tear the heart out of his side. And lay the heart upon her hand And bear that beating heart away; Of Magnus Annus at the spring, As though God’s death were but a play. Another Troy must rise and set, Another lineage feed […]...
13. Holy Sonnet VI: This Is My Play's Last Scene, Here Heavens Appoint This is my play’s last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimage’s last mile; and my race Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace, My span’s last inch, my minute’s latest point, And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoint My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space; But my ever-waking part shall see that […]...
14. They called me to the Window, for They called me to the Window, for ” ‘Twas Sunset” Some one said I only saw a Sapphire Farm And just a Single Herd Of Opal Cattle feeding far Upon so vain a Hill As even while I looked dissolved Nor Cattle were nor Soil But in their stead a Sea displayed And Ships of […]...
15. The Recall I am the land of their fathers, In me the virtue stays. I will bring back my children, After certain days. Under their feet in the grasses My clinging magic runs. They shall return as strangers. They shall remain as sons. Over their heads in the branches Of their new-bought, ancient trees, I weave an […]...
16. THE SINGING SCHOOL The Poetry School, The Poetry Book Society, The Poetry Business: So much poetry about you’d think I’d want to shout, “Hurray, hurray, Every day’s Poetry Day!” but I don’t and you don’t either- You know its flim-flam on the ether, grants for Jack-the-lads Of both sexes, poets who’ve never been seen in a little magazine […]...
17. The Dream Called Life From the Spanish of Pedro Calderon de la Barca A dream it was in which I found myself. And you that hail me now, then hailed me king, In a brave palace that was all my own, Within, and all without it, mine; until, Drunk with excess of majesty and pride, Methought I towered so […]...
18. The Notice that is called the Spring The Notice that is called the Spring Is but a month from here Put up my Heart thy Hoary work And take a Rosy Chair. Not any House the Flowers keep The Birds enamor Care Our salary the longest Day Is nothing but a Bier....
19. I had some things that I called mine I had some things that I called mine And God, that he called his, Till, recently a rival Claim Disturbed these amities. The property, my garden, Which having sown with care, He claims the pretty acre, And sends a Bailiff there. The station of the parties Forbids publicity, But Justice is sublimer Than arms, or […]...
20. Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur “How shall I be a poet? How shall I write in rhyme? You told me once the very wish Partook of the sublime: Then tell me how. Don’t put me off With your ‘another time’.” The old man smiled to see him, To hear his sudden sally; He liked the lad to speak his mind […]...
21. Sonnet 105: Let not my love be called idolatry Let not my love be called idolatry, Nor my belovèd as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love today, tomorrow kind, Still constant in a wondrous excellence; Therefore my verse to constancy confined, One thing expressing, leaves out […]...
22. The Call Out of the nothingness of sleep, The slow dreams of Eternity, There was a thunder on the deep: I came, because you called to me. I broke the Night’s primeval bars, I dared the old abysmal curse, And flashed through ranks of frightened stars Suddenly on the universe! The eternal silences were broken; Hell became […]...
23. Alma Mater He knocked, and I beheld him at the door A vision for the gods to verify. “What battered ancient is this,” thought I, “And when, if ever, did we meet before?” But ask him as I might, I got no more For answer than a moaning and a cry: Too late to parley, but in […]...
24. Bacchus Bring me wine, but wine which never grew In the belly of the grape, Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through Under the Andes to the Cape, Suffer no savor of the earth to scape. Let its grapes the morn salute From a nocturnal root, Which feels the acrid juice Of Styx and Erebus; […]...
25. Endurance HE bent above: so still her breath What air she breathed he could not say, Whether in worlds of life or death: So softly ebbed away, away, The life that had been light to him, So fled her beauty leaving dim The emptying chambers of his heart Thrilled only by the pang and smart, The […]...
26. Style Flaubert wanted to write a novel About nothing. It was to have no subject And be sustained upon the style alone, Like the Holy Ghost cruising above The abyss, or like the little animals In Disney cartoons who stand upon a branch That breaks, but do not fall Till they look down. He never wrote […]...
27. The Cut Well, what’s the matter? there’s a face What! has it cut a vein? And is it quite a shocking place? Come, let us look again. I see it bleeds, but never mind That tiny little drop; I don’t believe you’ll ever find That crying makes it stop. ‘Tis sad indeed to cry at pain, For […]...
28. Old Scout Is it because I’m bent and grey, Though wearing rather well, That I can slickly get away With all the yarns I tell? Is it because my bleary eye No longer beams with youth That I can plant a whopping lie, And flout the truth? I wonder why folks hark to me Where once they […]...
29. A Triolet Of all the sickly forms of verse, Commend me to the triolet. It makes bad writers somewhat worse: Of all the sickly forms of verse, That fall beneath a reader’s curse, It is the feeblest jingle yet. Of all the sickly forms of verse, Commend me to the triolet....
30. 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 […]...
31. But Not Forgotten I think, no matter where you stray, That I shall go with you a way. Though you may wander sweeter lands, You will not soon forget my hands, Nor yet the way I held my head, Nor all the tremulous things I said. You still will see me, small and white And smiling, in the […]...
32. (As sung by Mr. Charles Charrington in the play of "The Three Wayfarers") (As sung by Mr. Charles Charrington in the play of “The Three Wayfarers”) O MY trade it is the rarest one, Simple shepherds all My trade is a sight to see; For my customers I tie, and take ’em up on high, And waft ’em to a far countree! My tools are but common ones, […]...
33. Does It Matter? Does it matter?-losing your legs? For people will always be kind, And you need not show that you mind When others come in after hunting To gobble their muffins and eggs. Does it matter?-losing you sight? There’s such splendid work for the blind; And people will always be kind, As you sit on the terrace […]...
34. Thoreau's Flute We sighing said, “Our Pan is dead; His pipe hangs mute beside the river Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music’s airy voice is fled. Spring mourns as for untimely frost; The bluebird chants a requiem; The willow-blossom waits for him; The Genius of the wood is lost.” Then from the flute, untouched by hands, […]...
35. Young Fellow My Lad “Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad, On this glittering morn of May?” “I’m going to join the Colours, Dad; They’re looking for men, they say.” “But you’re only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad; You aren’t obliged to go.” “I’m seventeen and a quarter, Dad, And ever so strong, you know.” * * […]...
36. A HOPE FOR POETRY: REMEMBERING THE SIXTIES There was a hope for poetry in the sixties And for education and society, teachers free To do as they wanted: I could and did teach Poetry and art all day and little else – That was my way. I threw rainbows against the classroom walls, Gold and silver dragons in the corridors and Halls; […]...
37. Psalm 73 part 2 v.23-28 C. M. God our portion here and hereafter. God, my supporter and my hope, My help for ever near, Thine arm of mercy held me up, When sinking in despair. Thy counsels, Lord, shall guide my feet Through this dark wilderness; Thine hand conduct me near thy seat, To dwell before thy face. Were […]...
38. To Ladies' Eyes To Ladies’ eyes a round, boy, We can’t refuse, we can’t refuse; Though bright eyes so abound, boy, ‘Tis hard to choose, ’tis hard to choose. For thick as stars that lighten Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers, The countless eyes that brighten This earth of ours, this earth of ours. But fill the cup […]...
39. At play Play that you are mother dear, And play that papa is your beau; Play that we sit in the corner here, Just as we used to, long ago. Playing so, we lovers two Are just as happy as we can be, And I’ll say “I love you” to you, And you say “I love you” […]...
40. Harlan Sewall You never understood, O unknown one, Why it was I repaid Your devoted friendship and delicate ministrations First with diminished thanks, Afterward by gradually withdrawing my presence from you, So that I might not be compelled to thank you, And then with silence which followed upon Our final Separation. You had cured my diseased soul. […]...