The Dead Heart

Related poetry:

1. Ballad of Dead Friends As we the withered ferns By the roadway lying, Time, the jester, spurns All our prayers and prying All our tears and sighing, Sorrow, change, and woe All our where-and-whying For friends that come and go. Life awakes and burns, Age and death defying, Till at last it learns All but Love is dying; Love’s […]...
2. Whats The Use Of A Title? They dont make it The beautiful die in flame – Sucide pills, rat poison, rope what – Ever… They rip their arms off, Throw themselves out of windows, They pull their eyes out of the sockets, Reject love Reject hate Reject, reject. They do’nt make it The beautiful can’t endure, They are butterflies They are […]...
3. Exeat I remember the Roman Emperor, one of the cruellest of them, Who used to visit for pleasure his poor prisoners cramped in dungeons, So then they would beg him for death, and then he would say: Oh no, oh no, we are not yet friends enough. He meant they were not yet friends enough for […]...
4. Dead poet I’m sure it would be easier to survive as a dead poet, I mean it in the surmise that I won’t be tempted To revise or rewrite the poem I wrote last night, or the Poems I wrote last week (which make me cringe when I Read them again), or when I read poetry of […]...
5. The Dead Village Here there is death. But even here, they say, Here where the dull sun shines this afternoon As desolate as ever the dead moon Did glimmer on dead Sardis, men were gay; And there were little children here to play, With small soft hands that once did keep in tune The strings that stretch from […]...
6. The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart; The secret thoughts he harbored against me I also perceived. His dog bit my foot, he showed me much injustice; I do not Bite him like a dog, I have bitten my own lip. Since I have penetrated into the secrets of individuals like […]...
7. Awake, My Heart Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake The o’ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake! She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee: Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, Already they watch the path thy […]...
8. Always Marry An April Girl Praise the spells and bless the charms, I found April in my arms. April golden, April cloudy, Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy; April soft in flowered languor, April cold with sudden anger, Ever changing, ever true I love April, I love you....
9. Troth with the Dead The moon is broken in twain, and half a moon Before me lies on the still, pale floor of the sky; The other half of the broken coin of troth Is buried away in the dark, where the still dead lie. They buried her half in the grave when they laid her away; I had […]...
10. I never hear that one is dead I never hear that one is dead Without the chance of Life Afresh annihilating me That mightiest Belief, Too mighty for the Daily mind That tilling its abyss, Had Madness, had it once or twice The yawning Consciousness, Beliefs are Bandaged, like the Tongue When Terror were it told In any Tone commensurate Would strike […]...
11. A Process In The Weather Of The Heart A process in the weather of the heart Turns damp to dry; the golden shot Storms in the freezing tomb. A weather in the quarter of the veins Turns night to day; blood in their suns Lights up the living worm. A process in the eye forwarns The bones of blindness; and the womb Drives […]...
12. The Dead Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There’s none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That […]...
13. PROPERTIUS Desine, Paulle, meum lacrimis urgere sepulcrum: nempe tuas lacrimas litora surda bibent. Propertius, IV.11 Don’t cry for me, for only The senseless stones will drink your tears, I’ll never see you cry, for tears are No more than splinters of a lurid globe Which only knows its orb and nothing more. The dead don’t know […]...
14. Henry James in the Heart of the City We have a small sculpture of Henry James on our terrace in New York City. Nothing would surprise him. The beast in the jungle was what he saw Edith Wharton’s obfuscating older brother. . . He fled the demons Of Manhattan For fear they would devour His inner ones (the ones who wrote the books) […]...
15. The Heart of Australia When the wars of the world seemed ended, and silent the distant drum, Ten years ago in Australia, I wrote of a war to come: And I pictured Australians fighting as their fathers fought of old For the old things, pride or country, for God or the Devil or gold. And they lounged on the […]...
16. Sonnet 46: Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture’s sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right, My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie- A closet never pierced with crystal eyes- But the defendant […]...
17. To Eliza Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who to woman deny the soul’s future existence! Could they see thee, Eliza, they’d own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance. Had their prophet possess’d half an atom of sense, He ne’er would have woman from paradise driven; Instead of his houris, a […]...
18. 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 […]...
19. The Gift “He gave her class. She gave him sex.” Katharine Hepburn on Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers He gave her money. She gave him head. He gave her tips on “aggressive growth” mutual funds. She gave him a red rose and a little statue of eros. He gave her Genesis 2 (21-23). She gave him Genesis […]...
20. Remorse That scathing word I used in scorn (Though half a century ago) Comes back to me this April morn, Like boomerang to work me woe; Comes back to me with bitter blame (Though apple boughs are blossoming), And oh! the anguish of my shame Is sharper than a serpent’s sting! Age sensitizes us to pain, […]...
21. Equality I saw a King, who spent his life to weave Into a nation all his great heart thought, Unsatisfied until he should achieve The grand ideal that his manhood sought; Yet as he saw the end within his reach, Death took the sceptre from his failing hand, And all men said, “He gave his life […]...
22. For the Union Dead “Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam.” The old South Boston Aquarium stands In a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded. The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales. The airy tanks are dry. Once my nose crawled like a snail on the glass; My hand tingled To burst the bubbles Drifting from […]...
23. Sonnet 133: Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Is’t not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be? Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engrossed. Of him, myself, […]...
24. Dead Cow Farm An ancient saga tells us how In the beginning the First Cow (For nothing living yet had birth But Elemental Cow on earth) Began to lick cold stones and mud: Under her warm tongue flesh and blood Blossomed, a miracle to believe: And so was Adam born, and Eve. Here now is chaos once again, […]...
25. Because Her Heart Is Tender, for Beth She scrawled soft words in soap: “Never Forget,” Dove-white on her car’s window, and the wren, Because her heart is tender, might regret It called the sun to wake her. As I slept, She heard lost names recounted, one by one. She wrote in sidewalk chalk: “Never Forget,” And kept her heart’s own counsel. No […]...
26. The Dead King (EDWARD VII.) 1910 Who in the Realm to-day lays down dear life for the sake of a land more dear? And, unconcerned for his own estate, toils till the last grudged sands have run? Let him approach. It is proven here Our King asks nothing of any man more than Our King himself, has done. […]...
27. The distance that the dead have gone The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year. And then, that we have followed them, We more than half suspect, So intimate have we become With their dear retrospect....
28. The Cold Night It is cold. The white moon Is up among her scattered stars— Like the bare thighs of The Police Sergeant’s wife—among Her five children. . . No answer. Pale shadows lie upon The frosted grass. One answer: It is midnight, it is still And it is cold. . . ! White thighs of the sky! […]...
29. My Cross I wrote a poem to the moon But no one noticed it; Although I hoped that late or soon Someone would praise a bit Its purity and grace forlone, Its beauty tulip-cool… But as my poem died still-born, I felt a fool. I wrote a verse of vulgar trend Spiced with an oath or two; […]...
30. My Heart Goes Out My heart goes out to my Creator in love Who gave me Death, as end and remedy. All living creatures come to quiet Death For him to eat up their activity And give them nothing, which is what they want although When they are living they do not think so....
31. With Rue My Heart Is Laden With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipt maiden And many a lightfoot lad. By brooks too broad for leaping The lightfoot boys are laid; The rose-lipt girls are sleeping In fields where roses fade....
32. Heart! We will forget him! Heart! We will forget him! You and I tonight! You may forget the warmth he gave I will forget the light! When you have done, pray tell me That I may straight begin! Haste! lest while you’re lagging I remember him!...
33. Death, To The Dead For Evermore DEATH, to the dead for evermore A King, a God, the last, the best of friends – Whene’er this mortal journey ends Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn Disturbs the eternal sleep, But in the stillness far […]...
34. That Day This is the desk I sit at And this is the desk where I love you too much And this is the typewriter that sits before me Where yesterday only your body sat before me With its shoulders gathered in like a Greek chorus, With its tongue like a king making up rules as he […]...
35. A poor torn heart a tattered heart A poor torn heart a tattered heart That sat it down to rest Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West Nor noticed Night did soft descend Nor Constellation burn Intent upon the vision Of latitudes unknown. The angels happening that way This dusty heart espied Tenderly took it up from toil […]...
36. Le Gout du Néant Morne esprit, autrefois amoureux de la lutte, L’Espoir, dont l’éperon attisait ton ardeur, Ne veut plus t’enfourcher! Couche-toi sans pudeur, Vieux cheval dont le pied à chaque obstacle bute. Résigne-toi, mon coeur; dors ton sommeil de brute. Esprit vaincu, fourbu! Pour toi, vieux maraudeur, L’amour n’a plus de gout, non plus que la dispute; Adieu […]...
37. To the Mother of a Dead Marine Your boy once touched me, yes. I knew you knew When your wet, reddened gaze drilled into me, Groped through my clothes for signs, some residue Of him-some lusciousness of mine that he Had craved, that might have driven his desire For things perilous, poisonous, out-of-bounds. Could I have been the beast he rode to […]...
38. Letters To Dead Imagists EMILY DICKINSON: You gave us the bumble bee who has a soul, The everlasting traveler among the hollyhocks, And how God plays around a back yard garden. STEVIE CRANE: War is kind and we never knew the kindness of war till You came; Nor the black riders and clashes of spear and shield out Of […]...
39. The Good Man in Hell If a good man were ever housed in Hell By needful error of the qualities, Perhaps to prove the rule or shame the devil, Or speak the truth only a stranger sees, Would he, surrendering quick to obvious hate, Fill half eternity with cries and tears, Or watch beside Hell’s little wicket gate In patience […]...
40. The Debate Between Villon And His Heart Who’s that I hear?-It’s me-Who?-Your heart Hanging on by the thinnest thread I lose all my strength, substance, and fluid When I see you withdrawn this way all alone Like a whipped cur sulking in the corner Is it due to your mad hedonism?- What’s it to you?-I have to suffer for it- Leave me […]...