Southern Mansion

Related poetry:

1. Lines Inscribed on The Wall of a Dungeon in The Southern P of I Though not a breath can enter here, I know the wind blows fresh and free; I know the sun is shining clear, Though not a gleam can visit me. They thought while I in darkness lay, ‘Twere pity that I should not know How all the earth is smiling gay; How fresh the vernal breezes […]...
2. His Mansion in the Pool His Mansion in the Pool The Frog forsakes He rises on a Log And statements makes His Auditors two Worlds Deducting me The Orator of April Is hoarse Today His Mittens at his Feet No Hand hath he His eloquence a Bubble As Fame should be Applaud him to discover To your chagrin Demosthenes has […]...
3. Paradise is that old mansion Paradise is that old mansion Many owned before Occupied by each an instant Then reversed the Door Bliss is frugal of her Leases Adam taught her Thrift Bankrupt once through his excesses...
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. Come down, O Maid COME down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang), In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, To sit a star upon the sparkling spire; And come, for Love […]...
6. Celebates They must not wed the Doctor said, For they were far from strong, And children of their marriage bed Might not live overlong. And yet each eve I saw them pass With rapt and eager air, As fit a seeming lad and lass As ought to pair. For twenty years I went away And scoured […]...
7. Ghosts Some ghosts are women, Neither abstract nor pale, Their breasts as limp as killed fish. Not witches, but ghosts Who come, moving their useless arms Like forsaken servants. Not all ghosts are women, I have seen others; Fat, white-bellied men, Wearing their genitals like old rags. Not devils, but ghosts. This one thumps barefoot, lurching […]...
8. Sonnet XXXVII: When, in the Gloomy Mansion When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead, This with’ring heart, this faded form shall sleep; When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep, And earth’s cold lap receive this fev’rish head; Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed, And Time’s obliterating pinions sweep The spot, where poets shall their vigils keep, […]...
9. TEXTURES The grain of the exposed boards Speaks through the wall of the years We are back in our cottage On the wind-swathed hills Watching late winter dawns Gather like kindled flame. We are back with those winter dusks, – The hyaline air hung in darkness And a vale of stars, waking in blankets Laid on […]...
10. 16-bit Intel 8088 chip with an Apple Macintosh You can’t run Radio Shack programs In its disc drive. Nor can a Commodore 64 Drive read a file You have created on an IBM Personal Computer. Both Kaypro and Osborne computers use The CP/M operating system But can’t read each other’s Handwriting For they format (write On) discs in different […]...
11. In a Southern Garden WHEN the tall bamboos are clicking to the restless little breeze, And bats begin their jerky skimming flight, And the creamy scented blossoms of the dark pittosporum trees, Grow sweeter with the coming of the night. And the harbour in the distance lies beneath a purple pall, And nearer, at the garden’s lowest fringe, Loud […]...
12. Southern Pacific HUNTINGTON sleeps in a house six feet long. Huntington dreams of railroads he built and owned. Huntington dreams of ten thousand men saying: Yes, sir. Blithery sleeps in a house six feet long. Blithery dreams of rails and ties he laid. Blithery dreams of saying to Huntington: Yes, sir. Huntington, Blithery, sleep in houses six […]...
13. Flag of the Southern Cross Sons of Australia, be loyal and true to her – Fling out the flag of the Southern Cross! Sing a loud song to be joyous and new to her – Fling out the flag of the Southern Cross! Stain’d with the blood of the diggers who died by it, Fling out the flag to the […]...
14. In Memory Of My Mother I do not think of you lying in the wet clay Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see You walking down a lane among the poplars On your way to the station, or happily Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday You meet me and you say: ‘Don’t forget to see about the cattle ‘ […]...
15. Tom Merritt At first I suspected something She acted so calm and absent-minded. And one day I heard the back door shut, As I entered the front, and I saw him slink Back of the smokehouse into the lot, And run across the field. And I meant to kill him on sight. But that day, walking near […]...
16. Night-Music At one the wind rose, And with it the noise Of the black poplars. Long since had the living By a thin twine Been led into their dreams Where lanterns shine Under a still veil Of falling streams; Long since had the dead Become untroubled In the light soil. There were no mouths To drink […]...
17. The Tunnel Toil’s a tunnel, there’s no way out For fellows, the like o’ me; A beggar wi’ only a crust an’ a clout At the worst o’ the worst is free; But I work to eat, an’ I eat to work; It’s always the same old round, And I dassent fail for the day I shirk […]...
18. A Million Young Workmen, 1915 A MILLION young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads, And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red roses. Yes, this million of young workmen slaughtered one another and never saw their red hands. And oh, it would have been […]...
19. 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 […]...
20. The Argument Of His Book I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by […]...
21. Old Engine Driver For five and twenty years I’ve run A famous train; But now my spell of speed is done, No more I’ll strain My sight along the treadless tracks, The gleamy rails: My hand upon the throttle slacks, My vision fails. No more I’ll urge my steed of steel Through hostile nights; No more the mastery […]...
22. Far In a Western Brookland Far in a western brookland That bred me long ago The poplars stand and tremble By pools I used to know. There, in the windless night-time, The wanderer, marvelling why, Halts on the bridge to hearken How soft the poplars sigh. He hears: no more remembered In fields where I was known, Here I lie […]...
23. The Painter on Silk There was a man Who made his living By painting roses Upon silk. He sat in an upper chamber And painted, And the noises of the street Meant nothing to him. When he heard bugles, and fifes, and drums, He thought of red, and yellow, and white roses Bursting in the sunshine, And smiled as […]...
24. There Was One There was one a-riding grand On a tall brown mare, And a fine gold band He brought me there. A little, gold band He held to me That would shine on a hand For the world to see. There was one a-walking swift To a little, new song, And a rose was the gift He […]...
25. Such, Such Is Death Such, such is Death: no triumph: no defeat: Only an empty pail, a slate rubbed clean, A merciful putting away of what has been. And this we know: Death is not Life, effete, Life crushed, the broken pail. We who have seen So marvellous things know well the end not yet. Victor and vanquished are […]...
26. Wherein Obscurely On the road with billowing poplars, In a country flat and desolate To the far-off gray horizon, wherein obscurely, A man and a woman went on foot, Each carrying a small suitcase. They were tired and had taken off Their shoes and were walking on Their toes, staring straight ahead. Every time a car passed […]...
27. Blue Roses Roses red and roses white Plucked I for my love’s delight. She would none of all my posies Bade me gather her blue roses. Half the world I wandered through, Seeking where such flowers grew. Half the world unto my quest Answered me with laugh and jest. Home I came at wintertide, But my silly […]...
28. Willard Fluke My wife lost her health, And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds. Then that woman, whom the men Styled Cleopatra, came along. And we we married ones All broke our vows, myself among the rest. Years passed and one by one Death claimed them all in some hideous form, And I was borne along […]...
29. The End of the World Here, at the end of the world, The flowers bleed As if they were hearts, The hearts ooze a darkness Like india ink, & poets dip their pens in & they write. “Here, at the end of the world,” They write, Not knowing what it means. “Here, where the sky nurses on black milk, Where […]...
30. Recollections I. Years upon years, as a course of clouds that thicken Thronging the ways of the wind that shifts and veers, Pass, and the flames of remembered fires requicken Years upon years. Surely the thought in a man’s heart hopes or fears Now that forgetfulness needs must here have stricken Anguish, and sweetened the sealed-up […]...
31. Requiescat Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! In quiet she reposes; Ah, would that I did too! Her mirth the world required; She bathed it in smiles of glee. But her heart was tired, tired, And now they let her be. Her life was turning, turning, In mazes of heat and […]...
32. The Poplar Field The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade: The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew, And […]...
33. Hooray Say The Roses hooray say the roses, today is blamesday And we are red as blood. Hooray say the roses, today is Wednesday And we bloom wher soldiers fell And lovers too, And the snake at the word. Hooray say the roses, darkness comes All at once, like lights gone out, The sun leaves dark continents And rows […]...
34. Red Roses Tommy is three and when he’s bad His mother dances with him. She puts on the record, “Red Roses for a Blue Lady” And throws him across the room. Mind you, She never laid a hand on him. He gets red roses in different places, The head, that time he was as sleepy as a […]...
35. Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill This is the place where they all were bred; Some of the rafters are standing still; Now they are scattered and lost and dead, Every one from the old nest fled, Out of the shadow of Kiley’s Hill. Better it is that they ne’er came back Changes and chances are quickly rung; Now the old […]...
36. May 24, 1980 I have braved, for want of wild beasts, steel cages, Carved my term and nickname on bunks and rafters, Lived by the sea, flashed aces in an oasis, Dined with the-devil-knows-whom, in tails, on truffles. From the height of a glacier I beheld half a world, the earthly width. Twice have drowned, thrice let knives […]...
37. Ballad of Broken Flutes In dreams I crossed a barren land, A land of ruin, far away; Around me hung on every hand A deathful stillness of decay; And silent, as in bleak dismay That song should thus forsaken be, On that forgotten ground there lay The broken flutes of Arcady. The forest that was all so grand When […]...
38. Laus Deo It is done! Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel! How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town! Ring, O bells! Every stroke exulting tells Of the burial hour of crime. Loud and long, that all may […]...
39. Equinox I must keep from breaking into the story by force For if I do I will find myself with a war club in my hand And the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun, Your nation dead beside you. I keep walking away though it has been an eternity And from each drop of blood […]...
40. Murmurings in a field hospital [They picked him up in the grass where he had lain two Days in the rain with a piece of shrapnel in his lungs.] COME to me only with playthings now. . . A picture of a singing woman with blue eyes Standing at a fence of hollyhocks, poppies and sunflowers. . . Or an […]...