North and South

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1. Lucky One sweet pound of filet mignon Sizzles on the roadside. Let’s say a hundred yards below The buzzard. The buzzard Sees no cars or other buzzards Between the mountain range due north And the horizon to the south And across the desert west and east No other creature’s nose leads him to this feast. The […]...
2. 444. Song-A Fiddler in the North AMANG the trees, where humming bees, At buds and flowers were hinging, O, Auld Caledon drew out her drone, And to her pipe was singing, O: ‘Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels, She dirl’d them aff fu’ clearly, O: When there cam’ a yell o’ foreign squeels, That dang her tapsalteerie, O. Their capon craws […]...
3. Epitaph in a Church-Yard in Charleston, South Carolina GEORGE AUGUSTUS CLOUGH A NATIVE OF LIVERPOOL, DIED SUDDENLY OF “STRANGER’S FEVER” NOV’R 5th 1843 AGED 22 He died of “Stranger’s Fever” when his youth Had scarcely melted into manhood, so The chiselled legend runs; a brother’s woe Laid bare for epitaph. The savage ruth Of a sunny, bright, but alien land, uncouth With cruel […]...
4. South Country After the whey-faced anonymity Of river-gums and scribbly-gums and bush, After the rubbing and the hit of brush, You come to the South Country As if the argument of trees were done, The doubts and quarrelling, the plots and pains, All ended by these clear and gliding planes Like an abrupt solution. And over the […]...
5. To One Coming North At first you’ll joy to see the playful snow, Like white moths trembling on the tropic air, Or waters of the hills that softly flow Gracefully falling down a shining stair. And when the fields and streets are covered white And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw, Or underneath a spell of heat and light […]...
6. My Mother I Reg wished me to go with him to the field, I paused because I did not want to go; But in her quiet way she made me yield Reluctantly, for she was breathing low. Her hand she slowly lifted from her lap And, smiling sadly in the old sweet way, She pointed to the […]...
7. Spring in the South Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, Tho’ to the bough the rusty leafage clings; Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling, See how the pine-wood grows alive with wings; Blue-jays fluttering, yodeling and crying, Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying, Who has […]...
8. Leda Where the slow river Meets the tide, A red swan lifts red wings And darker beak, And underneath the purple down Of his soft breast Uncurls his coral feet. Through the deep purple Of the dying heat Of sun and mist, The level ray of sun-beam Has caressed The lily with dark breast, And flecked […]...
9. I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending […]...
10. I know why the caged bird sings A free bird leaps on the back Of the wind and floats downstream Till the current ends and dips his wing In the orange suns rays And dares to claim the sky. But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage Can seldom see through his bars of rage His wings are clipped and his […]...
11. The North Wind That wind is from the North, I know it well; No other breeze could have so wild a swell. Now deep and loud it thunders round my cell, The faintly dies, And softly sighs, And moans and murmurs mournfully. I know its language; thus is speaks to me ‘I have passed over thy own mountains […]...
12. A Love Song from the North Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha, Wouldst thou recall to my heart, papeeha, Dreams of delight that are gone, When swift to my side came the feet of my lover With stars of the dusk and the dawn? I see the soft wings of the clouds on the river, And jewelled with raindrops […]...
13. Harp of the North, Farewell! Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; Thy numbers sweet with nature’s vespers blending, With distant […]...
14. 532. Song-Their groves o' sweet myrtle THEIR groves o’ sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowèrs Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen; For there, lightly tripping, […]...
15. To Ellen, At The South The green grass is growing, The morning wind is in it, ‘Tis a tune worth the knowing, Though it change every minute. ‘Tis a tune of the spring, Every year plays it over, To the robin on the wing, To the pausing lover. O’er ten thousand thousand acres Goes light the nimble zephyr, The flowers, […]...
16. North Country North Country, filled with gesturing wood, With trees that fence, like archers’ volleys, The flanks of hidden valleys Where nothing’s left to hide But verticals and perpendiculars, Like rain gone wooden, fixed in falling, Or fingers blindly feeling For what nobody cares; Or trunks of pewter, bangled by greedy death, Stuck with black staghorns, quietly […]...
17. To a Lady on Her Coming to North-America Indulgent muse! my grov’ling mind inspire, And fill my bosom with celestial fire. See from Jamaica’s fervid shore she moves, Like the fair mother of the blooming loves, When from above the Goddess with her hand Fans the soft breeze, and lights upon the land; Thus she on Neptune’s wat’ry realm reclin’d Appear’d, and thus […]...
18. South Wind Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning,- With larks aloft, or skimming with the swallow, Or with blackbirds in a green, sun-glinted thicket? Oh, I heard you like a tyrant in the valley; Your ruffian haste shook the young, blossoming orchards; You clapped rude hands, hallooing round the chimney, And white your pennons […]...
19. Men Of The High North Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing; Islands of opal float on silver seas; Swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing; Pale ports of amber, golden argosies. Ringed all around us the proud peaks are glowing; Fierce chiefs in council, their wigwam the sky; Far, far below us the big Yukon flowing, Like threaded […]...
20. Behind Me dips Eternity Behind Me dips Eternity Before Me Immortality Myself the Term between Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray, Dissolving into Dawn away, Before the West begin ‘Tis Kingdoms afterward they say In perfect pauseless Monarchy Whose Prince is Son of None Himself His Dateless Dynasty Himself Himself diversify In Duplicate divine ‘Tis Miracle before Me […]...
21. Shirt I remember once I ran after you and tagged the fluttering shirt of you in the wind. Once many days ago I drank a glassful of something and the picture of you shivered and slid on top of the stuff. And again it was nobody else but you I heard in the singing voice of […]...
22. The Gardener IV: Ah Me Ah me, why did they build my House by the road to the market Town? They moor their laden boats near My trees. They come and go and wander at Their will. I sit and watch them; my time Wears on. Turn them away I cannot. And Thus my days pass by. Night and day […]...
23. The Road to Avignon A Minstrel stands on a marble stair, Blown by the bright wind, debonair; Below lies the sea, a sapphire floor, Above on the terrace a turret door Frames a lady, listless and wan, But fair for the eye to rest upon. The minstrel plucks at his silver strings, And looking up to the lady, sings: […]...
24. Primavera in the North She has danced for leagues and leagues, Over thorns and thistles, Prancing to a tune of Griegg’s Performed on willow whistles. Antelopes behold her, dazed, Velvet-eyed, and furry; Polar flowers, crackle-glazed, Snap beneath her hurry. In a wig of copper wire, A gown of scalloped gauzes, She capers like a flame of fire Over Arctic […]...
25. The Birds reported from the South The Birds reported from the South A News express to Me A spicy Charge, My little Posts But I am deaf Today The Flowers appealed a timid Throng I reinforced the Door Go blossom for the Bees I said And trouble Me no More The Summer Grace, for Notice strove Remote Her best Array The […]...
26. Good Friday 2001, Riding North Yellow makes a play for green among The rows of some poor farmer’s field outside The Memphis city limits’ northern edge. A D. J. plays The Day He Wore My Crown, Not knowing it entices into tears This woman never once disposed to travel The holiday before. My children squander Unleavened bread brought forth from […]...
27. Lily-Bell and Thistledown Song II Thistledown in prison sings: Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair. But, deep in the dark, cold rock, Sadly I dwell, Longing for thee, dear friend, Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell replies: Through sunlight and summer air I have sought for thee long, Guided by birds […]...
28. If Dear love, if you and I could sail away, With snowy pennons to the wind unfurled, Across the waters of some unknown bay, And find some island far from all the world; If we could dwell there, ever more alone, While unrecorded years slip by apace, Forgetting and forgotten and unknown By aught save native […]...
29. Two south coast poems (a) this morning i came within sound of the sea for a man whose eyes till now were a bed of rock Whose hands were drier than deserts The sea’s voice drove fear up through the valley The tributaries meandering inside me longing for outlet Shrivelled even as their own courses became straight My demand for ocean died now the ocean approached The clouds put […]...
30. Humming-bird pie the paiute indians had the bird sussed A humming bird (loaded with seeds) set out To see beyond the sun – it aimed to be frugal Rationing itself to only one seed a day – even so It ran out long before it meant to It gave up (getting nowhere and seeing nothing) – All […]...
31. North Haven I can make out the rigging of a schooner A mile off; I can count The new cones on the spruce. It is so still The pale bay wears a milky skin; the sky No clouds except for one long, carded horse№s tail. The islands haven’t shifted since last summer, Even if I like to […]...
32. Angelus A deep bell that links the downs To the drowsy air; Every loop of sound that swoons, Finds a circle fair, Whereon it doth rest and fade; Every stroke that dins is laid Like a node, Spinning out the quivering, fine, Vibrant tendrils of a vine: (Bim – bim – bim.) How they wreathe and […]...
33. Under the Moon Under the crescent moon’s faint glow The washerman’s bat resounds afar, And the autumn breeze sighs tenderly. But my heart has gone to the Tartar war, To bleak Kansuh and the steppes of snow, Calling my husband back to me....
34. Autumn Song Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, The sunset hangs on a cloud; A golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, The wild wind blows in a cloud. Hark to a voice that is calling To my heart in the voice of the wind: My heart is weary […]...
35. Subway Wind Far down, down through the city’s great, gaunt gut, The gray train rushing bears the weary wind; In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut, Leaving the sick and heavy air behind. And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door To give their summer jackets to the breeze; Their laugh is swallowed in the […]...
36. South of my Days South of my days’ circle, part of my blood’s country, Rises that tableland, high delicate outline Of bony slopes wincing under the winter, Low trees, blue-leaved and olive, outcropping granite – Clean, lean, hungry country. The creek’s leaf-silenced, Willow choked, the slope a tangle of medlar and crabapple Branching over and under, blotched with a […]...
37. Beautiful North Berwick North Berwick is a watering-place with golfing links green, With a fine bathing beach most lovely to be seen; And there’s a large number of handsome villas also, And often it’s called the Scarborough of Scotland, as Portobello. The greatest attraction is Tantallon Castle, worthy of regard, About three miles distant to the eastward; Which […]...
38. The Last Mowing There’s a place called Far-away Meadow We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhouse: The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flowers That can’t stand mowers and plowers. It must be now, through, in season Before the not mowing brings trees on, Before […]...
39. Lullaby Now the day is done, Now the shepherd sun Drives his white flocks from the sky; Now the flowers rest On their mother’s breast, Hushed by her low lullaby. Now the glowworms glance, Now the fireflies dance, Under fern-boughs green and high; And the western breeze To the forest trees Chants a tuneful lullaby. Now […]...
40. I Told You I told you the winter would go, love, I told you the winter would go, That he’d flee in shame when the south wind came, And you smiled when I told you so. You said the blustering fellow Would never yield to a breeze, That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death The flowers, […]...