The Many

Related poetry:

1. A Ballad of Dreamland I hid my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun’s way, hidden apart; In a softer bed then the soft white snow’s is, Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? why should it start, When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred? What made sleep flutter his […]...
2. Elsa Wertman I was a peasant girl from Germany, Blue-eyed, rosy, happy and strong. And the first place I worked was at Thomas Greene’s. On a summer’s day when she was away He stole into the kitchen and took me Right in his arms and kissed me on my throat, I turning my head. Then neither of […]...
3. The Gardener XLVI: You Left Me You left me and went on your way. I thought I should mourn for you And set your solitary image in my Heart wrought in a golden song. But ah, my evil fortune, time is Short. Youth wanes year after year; the Spring days are fugitive; the frail Flowers die for nothing, and the wise […]...
4. Hamilton Greene Edgar Lee Masters – Hamilton Greene I was the only child of Frances Harris of Virginia And Thomas Greene of Kentucky, Of valiant and honorable blood both. To them I owe all that I became, Judge, member of Congress, leader in the State. From my mother I inherited Vivacity, fancy, language; From my father will, […]...
5. Song VII: Dawn Talks to Day Dawn talks to Day Over dew-gleaming flowers, Night flies away Till the resting of hours: Fresh are thy feet And with dreams thine eyes glistening, Thy still lips are sweet Though the world is a-listening. O Love, set a word in my mouth for our meeting, Cast thine arms round about me to stay my […]...
6. A Baby's Death A little soul scarce fledged for earth Takes wing with heaven again for goal Even while we hailed as fresh from birth A little soul. Our thoughts ring sad as bells that toll, Not knowing beyond this blind world’s girth What things are writ in heaven’s full scroll. Our fruitfulness is there but dearth, And […]...
7. The Year of the Rose From the depths of the green garden-closes Where the summer in darkness dozes Till autumn pluck from his hand An hour-glass that holds not a sand; From the maze that a flower-belt encloses To the stones and sea-grass on the strand How red was the reign of the roses Over the rose-crowned land! The year […]...
8. Because the Bee may blameless hum Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid May lift a look on thine, a Maid Alway a Flower would be. Nor Robins, Robins need not hide When Thou upon their Crypts intrude So Wings bestow on Me Or Petals, or a […]...
9. A Poet's Wooing I woo’d a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind. Tennyson “What may I do to make you glad, To make you glad and free, Till your light smiles glance And your bright eyes dance Like sunbeams on the sea? Read some rhyme that is blithe and gay Of a bright May […]...
10. Mammy Hums THIS is the song I rested with: The right shoulder of a strong man I leaned on. The face of the rain that drizzled on the short neck of a canal boat. The eyes of a child who slept while death went over and under. The petals of peony pink that fluttered in a shot […]...
11. To Mr. H. Lawes on His Airs Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas’ ears, committing short and long, Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, With praise enough for Envy to look wan; To after age thou shalt be writ the […]...
12. Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet IV ‘Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep As undisturb’d as Justice! but no more The wretched Slave, as on his native shore, Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep! Tho’ thro’ the toil and anguish of the day No tear escap’d him, not one suffering groan Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone In […]...
13. Tract I will teach you my townspeople How to perform a funeral For you have it over a troop Of artists- Unless one should scour the world- You have the ground sense necessary. See! the hearse leads. I begin with a design for a hearse. For Christ’s sake not black- Nor white either – and not […]...
14. Jack's Legacy The critic gushed and said, “Just like Jack, So raw, I never thought to see another writer just Like Kerouac!” Kerouac, who the fuck is he? A writer? Christ, that’s a laugh, compare me to a writer! Let’s face it I’m no hack, I’m not so much to look at either, But maybe Jack took […]...
15. Adrift! A little boat adrift! Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town? So Sailors say on yesterday Just as the dusk was brown One little boat gave up its strife And gurgled down and down. So angels say on yesterday Just as the dawn was red […]...
16. Sonnet 13 XIII To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Aires. Harry whose tuneful and well measur’d Song First taught our English Musick how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas Ears, committing short and long; Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, With praise enough for Envy to look […]...
17. Carlos Last night I knelt low at my lady’s feet. One soft, caressing hand played with my hair, And one I kissed and fondled. Kneeling there, I deemed my meed of happiness complete. She was so fair, so full of witching wiles – Of fascinating tricks of mouth and eye; So womanly withal, but not too […]...
18. My Cancer Cure “A year to live,” the Doctor said; “There is no cure,” and shook his head. Ah me! I felt as good as dead. Yet quite resigned to fate was I, Thinking: “Well, since I have to die ‘Twill be beneath the open sky.” And so I sought a wildsome wood Wherein a lonely cabin stood, […]...
19. A Singing Lesson Far-fetched and dear-bought, as the proverb rehearses, Is good, or was held so, for ladies: but nought In a song can be good if the turn of the verse is Far-fetched and dear-bought. As the turn of a wave should it sound, and the thought Ring smooth, and as light as the spray that disperses […]...
20. My Lost Youth Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still: “A boy’s will is the wind’s will, And […]...
21. An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. John Can we not force from widow’d poetry, Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust, Though with unkneaded dough-bak’d prose, thy dust, Such as th’ unscissor’d churchman from the flower Of fading rhetoric, short-liv’d as his hour, Dry as the sand that measures it, should […]...
22. Tears THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well That is light grieving! lighter, none befell Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot, The mother singing, at her marriage-bell The bride weeps, and before the oracle […]...
23. Fairy Song The moonlight fades from flower and rose And the stars dim one by one; The tale is told, the song is sung, And the Fairy feast is done. The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers, And sings to them, soft and low. The early birds erelong will wake: ‘T is time for the Elves to go. […]...
24. Breath Is Enough I draw sweet air Deeply and long, As pure as prayer, As sweet as song. Where lilies glow And roses wreath, Heart-joy I know Is just to breathe. Aye, so I think By shore or sea, As deep I drink Of purity. This brave machine, Bare to the buff, I keep ice-clean, Breath is enough. […]...
25. A Letter to a Live Poet Sir, since the last Elizabethan died, Or, rather, that more Paradisal muse, Blind with much light, passed to the light more glorious Or deeper blindness, no man’s hand, as thine, Has, on the world’s most noblest chord of song, Struck certain magic strains. Ears satiate With the clamorous, timorous whisperings of to-day, Thrilled to perceive […]...
26. Weary Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark. When wearily I lie, With aching sight, With what thanksgiving I Turn out the light! When to night’s drowsy deep Serene I sink, How glad am I to sleep, To cease to think! From care and fret […]...
27. A New Year's Message To Joseph Mazzini Send the stars light, but send not love to me. Shelley. I Out of the dawning heavens that hear Young wings and feet of the new year Move through their twilight, and shed round Soft showers of sound, Soothing the season with sweet rain, If greeting come to make me fain, What is it I […]...
28. On the Bay When the salt wave laps on the long, dim shore, And frets the reef with its windy sallies, And the dawn’s white light is threading once more The purple firs in the landward valleys, While yet the arms of the wide gray sea Are cradling the sunrise that is to be, The fisherman’s boat, through […]...
29. Variations on ‘The short night Below are eleven Buson haiku Beginning with the phrase ‘The short night ‘ The short night On the hairy caterpillar Beads of dew. The short night Patrolmen Washing in the river. The short night Bubbles of crab froth Among the river reeds. The short night A broom thrown away On the beach. The short night […]...
30. Felo de Se With Apologies to Mr. Swinburne. For repose I have sighed and have struggled ; have sigh’d and have struggled in vain; I am held in the Circle of Being and caught in the Circle of Pain. I was wan and weary with life ; my sick soul yearned for death; I was weary of women […]...
31. Sonnet 54: O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumèd tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and […]...
32. Sonet LIV O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns and play […]...
33. Sonnets vi O HOW much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The Rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The Canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the Roses, Hang on such thorns, and play […]...
34. Robin Hood to a friend No! those days are gone away And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Of the leaves of many years: Many times have winter’s shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest’s whispering fleeces, Since men knew nor […]...
35. A Clasp Of Hands SOFT, small, and sweet as sunniest flowers That bask in heavenly heat When bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers, Soft, small, and sweet. A babe’s hands open as to greet The tender touch of ours And mock with motion faint and fleet The minutes of the new strange hours That earth, not heaven, must […]...
36. Modern Love XXXIX: She Yields She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood Has yielded: she, my golden-crownèd rose! The bride of every sense! more sweet than those Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood. O visage of still music in the sky Soft moon! I feel thy song, my fairest friend! True harmony within can apprehend Dumb harmony without. […]...
37. The Drunkard's Funeral “Yes,” said the sister with the little pinched face, The busy little sister with the funny little tract: – “This is the climax, the grand fifth act. There rides the proud, at the finish of his race. There goes the hearse, the mourners cry, The respectable hearse goes slowly by. The wife of the dead […]...
38. Sonnet 17: Who will believe my verse in time to come Who will believe my verse in time to come If it were filled with your most high deserts? Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts: If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, […]...
39. Sonnet XVII Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill’d with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, […]...
40. Sonnet XLV: Muses, Which Sadly Sit Muses, which sadly sit about my chair, Drown’d in the tears extorted by my lines, With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air, Painting my passions in these sad designs, Since she disdains to bless my happy verse, The strong-built trophies to her living fame, Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse, Wherein the […]...