A March Day in London

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1. London in July What ails my senses thus to cheat? What is it ails the place, That all the people in the street Should wear one woman’s face? The London trees are dusty-brown Beneath the summer sky; My love, she dwells in London town, Nor leaves it in July. O various and intricate maze, Wide waste of square […]...
2. Waking In March Last night, again, I dreamed My children were back at home, Small boys huddled in their separate beds, And I went from one to the other Listening to their breathing regular, Almost soundless until a white light Hardened against the bedroom wall, The light of Los Angeles burning south Of here, going at last as […]...
3. In A London Square Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane, East wind and frost are safely gone; With zephyr mild and balmy rain The summer comes serenly on; Earth, air, and sun and skies combine To promise all that’s kind and fair:- But thou, O human heart of mine, Be still, contain thyself, and bear. December days were […]...
4. LONDON ROSES “ROWSES, Rowses! Penny a bunch!” they tell you Slattern girls in Trafalgar, eager to sell you. Roses, roses, red in the Kensington sun, Holland Road, High Street, Bayswater, see you and smell you Roses of London town, red till the summer is done. Roses, roses, locust and lilac, perfuming West End, East End, wondrously budding […]...
5. London Voluntaries IV: Out of the Poisonous East Out of the poisonous East, Over a continent of blight, Like a maleficent Influence released From the most squalid cellerage of hell, The Wind-Fiend, the abominable The Hangman Wind that tortures temper and light Comes slouching, sullen and obscene, Hard on the skirts of the embittered night; And in a cloud unclean Of excremental humours, […]...
6. Calamity in London ‘Twas in the year of 1897, and on the night of Christmas day, That ten persons’ lives were taken sway, By a destructive fire in London, at No. 9 Dixie Street, Alas! so great was the fire, the victims couldn’t retreat. In Dixie Street, No. 9, if was occupied by two families, Who were all […]...
7. My Little March Girl Come to the pane, draw the curtain apart, There she is passing, the girl of my heart; See where she walks like a queen in the street, Weather-defying, calm, placid and sweet. Tripping along with impetuous grace, Joy of her life beaming out of her face, Tresses all truant-like, curl upon curl, Wind-blown and rosy, […]...
8. Ridden Down When I taught Ida how to ride a Bicycle that night, I ran beside her, just to guide her Erring wheel aright; And many times there in the street She rode upon my weary feet. But now can Ida mount and ride a Wheel with graceful ease, And I, untiring in admiring, Fall upon my […]...
9. A London Plane-Tree Green is the plane-tree in the square, The other trees are brown; They droop and pine for country air; The plane-tree loves the town. Here from my garret-pane, I mark The plane-tree bud and blow, Shed her recuperative bark, And spread her shade below. Among her branches, in and out, The city breezes play; The […]...
10. A London Thoroughfare. 2 A. M They have watered the street, It shines in the glare of lamps, Cold, white lamps, And lies Like a slow-moving river, Barred with silver and black. Cabs go down it, One, And then another. Between them I hear the shuffling of feet. Tramps doze on the window-ledges, Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks. The city is […]...
11. Absence My shadow I woke to a wind swirling the curtains light and dark And the birds twittering on the roofs, I lay cold In the early light in my room high over London. What fear was it that made the wind sound like a fire So that I got up and looked out half-asleep At […]...
12. Men Who March Away Song of the Soldiers What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn-cocks say Night is growing gray, To hazards whence no tears can win us; What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away! Is it a purblind prank, O think you, Friend with the […]...
13. Oversoul THE EAST was crowned with snow-cold bloom And hung with veils of pearly fleece: They died away into the gloom, Vistas of peace-and deeper peace. And earth and air and wave and fire In awe and breathless silence stood; For One who passed into their choir Linked them in mystic brotherhood. Twilight of amethyst, amid […]...
14. The March Of The Dead The cruel war was over oh, the triumph was so sweet! We watched the troops returning, through our tears; There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street, And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers. And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between; The bells were […]...
15. London Poets (In Memoriam.) They trod the streets and squares where now I tread, With weary hearts, a little while ago; When, thin and grey, the melancholy snow Clung to the leafless branches overhead; Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew stormy-red In autumn; with a re-arisen woe Wrestled, what time the passionate spring winds blow; And paced […]...
16. Jack London and O. Henry BOTH were jailbirds; no speechmakers at all; speaking best with one foot on a brass rail; a beer glass in the left hand and the right hand employed for gestures. And both were lights snuffed out… no warning… no lingering: Who knew the hearts of these boozefighters?...
17. Harlem Shadows I hear the halting footsteps of a lass In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass To bend and barter at desire’s call. Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet Go prowling through the night from street to street! Through the long night until […]...
18. The Ballade Of The Automobile When our yacht sails seaward on steady keel And the wind is moist with breath of brine And our laughter tells of our perfect weal, We may carol the praises of ruby wine; But if, automobiling, my woes combine And fuel gives out in my road-machine And it’s sixteen miles to that home of mine […]...
19. Descriptive Jottings of London As I stood upon London Bridge and viewed the mighty throng Of thousands of people in cabs and ‘busses rapidly whirling along, All furiously driving to and fro, Up one street and down another as quick as they could go: Then I was struck with the discordant sound of human voices there, Which seemed to […]...
20. In a London Drawingroom The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke. For view there are the houses opposite Cutting the sky with one long line of wall Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch Monotony of surface & of form Without a break to hang a guess upon. No bird can make a shadow as it […]...
21. Night In The City The sluggish clouds hang low upon the town, And from yon lamp in chilled and sodden rays The feeble light gropes through the heavy mist And dies, extinguished in the stagnant maze. From moisty eaves the drops fall slowly down To strike with leaden sound the walk below, And in dark, murky pools upon the […]...
22. March The Sun at noon to higher air, Unharnessing the silver Pair That late before his chariot swam, Rides on the gold wool of the Ram. So braver notes the storm-cock sings To start the rusted wheel of things, And brutes in field and brutes in pen Leap that the world goes round again. The boys […]...
23. West London Crouch’d on the pavement close by Belgrave Square A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied; A babe was in her arms, and at her side A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare. Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there, Pass’d opposite; she touch’d her girl, who hied Across, and begg’d […]...
24. To Beachey, 1912 RIDING against the east, A veering, steady shadow Purrs the motor-call Of the man-bird Ready with the death-laughter In his throat And in his heart always The love of the big blue beyond. Only a man, A far fleck of shadow on the east Sitting at ease With his hands on a wheel And around […]...
25. March Evening Blue through the window burns the twilight; Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind. Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light, Wet, black branches are barred and entwined. Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot Dents into pools where a foot has been. Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not Of water, […]...
26. London I wander thro’ each charter’d street. Near where the charter’d Thames does flow A mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man. In every Infants cry of fear. In every voice; in every ban. The mind-forg’d manacles I hear How the Chimney-sweepers cry Every blackening […]...
27. London Bridge “Do I hear them? Yes, I hear the children singing-and what of it? Have you come with eyes afire to find me now and ask me that? If I were not their father and if you were not their mother, We might believe they made a noise…. What are you-driving at!” “Well, be glad that […]...
28. HIS RETURN TO LONDON From the dull confines of the drooping west, To see the day spring from the pregnant east, Ravish’d in spirit, I come, nay more, I fly To thee, blest place of my nativity! Thus, thus with hallow’d foot I touch the ground, With thousand blessings by thy fortune crown’d. O fruitful Genius! that bestowest here […]...
29. A March in the Ranks, Hard-prest A MARCH in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown; A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness; Our army foil’d with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating; Till after midnight glimmer upon us, the lights of a dim-lighted building; We come to an open space in the woods, and […]...
30. At the War Office, London I Last year I called this world of gain-givings The darkest thinkable, and questioned sadly If my own land could heave its pulse less gladly, So charged it seemed with circumstance whence springs The tragedy of things. II Yet at that censured time no heart was rent Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter […]...
31. A Wife In London December 1899 I She sits in the tawny vapour That the Thames-side lanes have uprolled, Behind whose webby fold-on-fold Like a waning taper The street-lamp glimmers cold. A messenger’s knock cracks smartly, Flashed news in her hand Of meaning it dazes to understand Though shaped so shortly: He he has fallen in the far South […]...
32. The Scissors-Grinder The old man had his box and wheel For grinding knives and shears. No doubt his bell in village streets Was joy to children’s ears. And I bethought me of my youth When such men came around, And times I asked them in, quite sure The scissors should be ground. The old man turned and […]...
33. Dawn in New York The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes Out of the low still skies, over the hills, Manhattan’s roofs and spires and cheerless domes! The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills. Almost the mighty city is asleep, No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet. But here and there a few cars groaning creep Along, above, […]...
34. Dead March Under the bunker, where the reek of kerosene Prepared the marriage rite, leader and whore, Imperfect kindling even in this wind, burn on. Someone in uniform hums Brahms. Servants prepare Eyewitness stories as the night comes down, as smoking coals await Boots on the stone, the occupying troops. Howl ministers. Deep in Kyffhauser Mountain’s underground, […]...
35. To the City of London London, thou art of town{.e}s A per se. Soveraign of cities, semeliest in sight, Of high renoun, riches, and royaltie; Of lordis, barons, and many goodly knyght; Of most delectable lusty ladies bright; Of famous prelatis in habitis clericall; Of merchauntis full of substaunce and myght: London, thou art the flour of Cities all. Gladdith […]...
36. Wet City Night Light drunkenly reels into shadow; Blurs, slurs uneasily; Slides off the eyeballs: The segments shatter. Tree-branches cut arc-light in ragged Fluttering wet strips. The cup of the sky-sign is filled too full; It slushes wine over. The street-lamps dance a tarentella And zigzag down the street: They lift and fly away In a wind of […]...
37. A Calendar of Sonnets: March Month which the warring ancients strangely styled The month of war, as if in their fierce ways Were any month of peace! in thy rough days I find no war in Nature, though the wild Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled As feet of writhing trees. The violets raise Their heads without […]...
38. The End Of March For John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: Duxbury It was cold and windy, scarcely the day To take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as possible, Indrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken, Seabirds in ones or twos. The rackety, icy, offshore wind Numbed our faces on one side; […]...
39. Happiness There’s just no accounting for happiness, Or the way it turns up like a prodigal Who comes back to the dust at your feet Having squandered a fortune far away. And how can you not forgive? You make a feast in honor of what Was lost, and take from its place the finest Garment, which […]...
40. How Yesterday Looked THE HIGH horses of the sea broke their white riders On the walls that held and counted the hours The wind lasted. Two landbirds looked on and the north and the east Looked on and the wind poured cups of foam And the evening began. The old men in the shanties looked on and lit […]...