The Sick Muse

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1. Frequently the wood are pink Frequently the wood are pink Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town. Oft a head is crested I was wont to see And as oft a cranny Where it used to be And the Earth they tell me On its Axis turned! Wonderful Rotation! By but twelve performed!...
2. INSPIRATION FROM A VISITATION OF MY MUSE Memories bursting like tears or waves On some lonely Adriatic shore Beating again and again Threshings of green sea foam Flecked like the marble Leonardo Chipped for his ‘Moses’. And my tears came as suddenly In that dream, criss-crossed With memory and desire. Grandad Nicky had worked Down the pits for a pittance To bring […]...
3. Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden quill, And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, And like unlettered clerk still cry “Amen” To every hymn that able spirit affords In polished form […]...
4. Dream Song 134: Sick at 6 & sick again at 9 Sick at 6 & sick again at 9 Was Henry’s gloomy Monday morning oh. Still he had to lecture. They waited, his little children, for stricken Henry To rise up yet once more again and come oh. They figured he was a fixture, Nuts to their bolds, keys to their bloody locks. One day the […]...
5. A Sick Child The postman comes when I am still in bed. “Postman, what do you have for me today?” I say to him. (But really I’m in bed.) Then he says – what shall I have him say? “This letter says that you are president Of – this word here; it’s a republic.” Tell them I can’t […]...
6. Sonnet 103: Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside. O, blame me not if I no more can write! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That overgoes my blunt […]...
7. Sonnet 21: So is it not with me as with that muse So is it not with me as with that muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven it self for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems, With April’s first-born flowers, and […]...
8. Sonnet 101: O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? Both truth and beauty on my love depends; So dost thou too, and therein dignified. Make answer, Muse. Wilt thou not haply say, “Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed, Beauty no pencil, beauty’s truth to lay, But […]...
9. While History's Muse While History’s Muse the memorial was keeping Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping, For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, She saw History write, […]...
10. Sonnet 38: How can my Muse want subject to invent How can my Muse want subject to invent While thou dost breathe, that pour’st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou […]...
11. Ode to the Muse O, let me seize thy pen sublime That paints, in melting dulcet rhyme, The glowing pow’r, the magic art, Th’ extatic raptures of the Heart; Soft Beauty’s timid smile serene, The dimples of Love’s sportive mien; The sweet descriptive tale to trace; To picture Nature’s winning grace; To steal the tear from Pity’s eye; To […]...
12. To the Muse of Poetry EXULT MY MUSE! exult to see Each envious, waspish, jealous thing, Around its harmless venom fling, And dart its powerless fangs at THEE! Ne’er shalt THOU bend thy radiant wing, To sweep the dark revengeful string; Or meanly stoop, to steal a ray, E’en from RINALDO’S glorious lay, Tho’ his transcendent Verse should twine About […]...
13. To The Muse It is all right. All they do Is go in by dividing One rib from another. I wouldn’t Lie to you. It hurts Like nothing I know. All they do Is burn their way in with a wire. It forks in and out a little like the tongue Of that frightened garter snake we caught […]...
14. 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 […]...
15. The Sick God I In days when men had joy of war, A God of Battles sped each mortal jar; The peoples pledged him heart and hand, From Israel’s land to isles afar. II His crimson form, with clang and chime, Flashed on each murk and murderous meeting-time, And kings invoked, for rape and raid, His fearsome aid […]...
16. The Sick Abbess EXAMPLE often proves of sov’reign use; At other times it cherishes abuse; ‘Tis not my purpose, howsoe’er, to tell Which of the two I fancy to excel. Some will conceive the Abbess acted right, While others think her conduct very light Be that as ’twill, her actions right or wrong, I’ll freely give a license […]...
17. Sonnet 86: Was it the proud full sail of his great verse Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? No, neither he, nor […]...
18. Sonnet LXXXVI Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? No, neither […]...
19. To the Muse Resign the rhapsody, the dream, To men of larger reach; Be ours the quest of a plain theme, The piety of speech. As monkish scribes from morning break Toiled till the close of light, Nor thought a day too long to make One line or letter bright: We also with an ardent mind, Time, wealth, […]...
20. The Venal Muse O muse of my heart, lover of palaces, Will you bring, when January lets loose its sleet And its black evenings without solace, An ember to warm my violet feet? What will revive your bruised shoulders, The nocturnal rays that pierce the shutters? When you cannot feel your palace, just your empty billfold, How will […]...
21. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
22. The Sick Rose O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm. That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy....
23. Sick Leave When I’m asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,- They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead. While the dim charging breakers of the storm Bellow and drone and rumble overhead, Out of the gloom they gather about my bed. They whisper to my heart; their thoughts are mine. ‘Why are you here with all your […]...
24. The Sick Stockrider Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more, and lay me in the shade. Old man, you’ve had your work cut out to guide Both horses, and to hold me in the saddle when I swayed, All through the hot, slow, sleepy, silent ride. The dawn at “Moorabinda” was a mist rack dull and dense, […]...
25. Alice Sick SICK, Alice grown, and fearing dire event, Some friend advised a servant should be sent Her confessor to bring and ease her mind; Yes, she replied, to see him I’m inclined; Let father Andrew instantly be sought: By him salvation usually I’m taught. A MESSENGER was told, without delay, To take, with rapid steps, the […]...
26. The Sick Man and the Nightingale (From Lenau.) So late, and yet a nightingale? Long since have dropp’d the blossoms pale, The summer fields are ripening, And yet a sound of spring? O tell me, didst thou come to hear, Sweet Spring, that I should die this year; And call’st across from the far shore To me one greeting more?...
27. June Sick Room The birds’ shrill fluting Beats on the pink blind, Pierces the pink blind At whose edge fumble the sun’s Fingers till one obtrudes And stirs the thick motes. The room is a close box of pink warmth. The minutes click. A man picks across the street With a metal-pointed stick. Three clocks drop each twelve […]...
28. How sick to wait in any place but thine How sick to wait in any place but thine I knew last night when someone tried to twine Thinking perhaps that I looked tired or alone Or breaking almost with unspoken pain And I turned ducal That right was thine One port suffices for a Brig like mine Ours be the tossing wild though the […]...
29. Night Thoughts Over A Sick Child Numb, stiff, broken by no sleep, I keep night watch. Looking for Signs to quiet fear, I creep Closer to his bed and hear His breath come and go, holding My own as if my own were All I paid. Nothing I bring, Say, or do has meaning here. Outside, ice crusts on river And […]...
30. TO MUSIC, TO BECALM A SWEET SICK YOUTH Charms, that call down the moon from out her sphere, On this sick youth work your enchantments here! Bind up his senses with your numbers, so As to entrance his pain, or cure his woe. Fall gently, gently, and a-while him keep Lost in the civil wilderness of sleep: That done, then let him, dispossess’d […]...
31. TO HIS MUSE Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam? Far safer ’twere to stay at home; Where thou mayst sit, and piping, please The poor and private cottages. Since cotes and hamlets best agree With this thy meaner minstrelsy. There with the reed thou mayst express The shepherd’s fleecy happiness; And with thy Eclogues intermix: Some smooth and […]...
32. When I Met My Muse I glanced at her and took my glasses Off they were still singing. They buzzed Like a locust on the coffee table and then Ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the Sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and Knew that nails up there took a new grip On whatever they touched. “I am your […]...
33. To the Muse In your hidden memories There are fatal tidings of doom… A curse on sacred traditions, A desecration of happiness; And a power so alluring That I am ready to repeat the rumour That you have brought angels down from heaven, Enticing them with your beauty… And when you mock at faith, That pale, greyish-purple halo […]...
34. THE MUSE'S MIRROR EARLY one day, the Muse, when eagerly bent on adornment, Follow’d a swift-running streamlet, the quietest nook by it seeking. Quickly and noisily flowing, the changeful surface distorted Ever her moving form; the goddess departed in anger. Yet the stream call’d mockingly after her, saying: “What, truly! Wilt thou not view, then, the truth, in […]...
35. Sonnet VIII Oft as by chance, a little while apart The pall of empty, loveless hours withdrawn, Sweet Beauty, opening on the impoverished heart, Beams like the jewel on the breast of dawn: Not though high heaven should rend would deeper awe Fill me than penetrates my spirit thus, Nor all those signs the Patmian prophet saw […]...
36. Epitaph Stop, Christian passer-by : Stop, child of God, And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem’d he O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C. That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death […]...
37. Farewell To The Muse Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy’s days, Young offspring of Fancy, ’tis time we should part; Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays, The coldest effusion which springs from my heart. This bosom, responsive to rapture no more, Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing; The […]...
38. Sonnet XLIV: Here Droops the Muse Here droops the muse! while from her glowing mind, Celestial Sympathy, with humid eye, Bids the light Sylph capricious Fancy fly, Time’s restless wings with transient flowr’s to bind! For now, with folded arms and head inclin’d, Reflection pours the deep and frequent sigh, O’er the dark scroll of human destiny, Where gaudy buds and […]...
39. Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use, And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Have added feathers to the learnèd’s wing And […]...
40. Rome: The Vatican-Sala Delle Muse I sat in the Muses’ Hall at the mid of the day, And it seemed to grow still, and the people to pass away, And the chiselled shapes to combine in a haze of sun, Till beside a Carrara column there gleamed forth One. She was nor this nor that of those beings divine, But […]...