Snap-Dragon
She bade me follow to her garden where The mellow sunlight stood as in a cup Between the old grey walls; I did not dare To raise my face, I did not dare look
The Song of a Man Who has Come Through
Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time. If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry
Week-Night Service
The five old bells Are hurrying and eagerly calling, Imploring, protesting They know, but clamorously falling Into gabbling incoherence, never resting, Like spattering showers from a bursten sky-rocket dropping In splashes of sound, endlessly,
Conceit
It is conceit that kills us And makes us cowards instead of gods. Under the great Command: Know thy self, and that thou art mortal! We have become fatally self-conscious, fatally self-important, fatally entangled
Dolor of Autumn
The acrid scents of autumn, Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear Everything, tear-trembling stars of autumn And the snore of the night in my ear. For suddenly, flush-fallen, All my life, in a
The Piano (Notebook Version)
Somewhere beneath that piano’s superb sleek black Must hide my mother’s piano, little and brown with the back That stood close to the wall, and the front’s faded silk, both torn And the keys
Reproach
Had I but known yesterday, Helen, you could discharge the ache Out of the cloud; Had I known yesterday you could take The turgid electric ache away, Drink it up with your proud White
Search for Truth
Search for nothing any more, nothing Except truth. Be very still, and try and get at the truth. And the first question to ask yourself is: How great a liar am I?
New Year's Eve
There are only two things now, The great black night scooped out And this fireglow. This fireglow, the core, And we the two ripe pips That are held in store. Listen, the darkness rings
After Many Days
I WONDER if with you, as it is with me, If under your slipping words, that easily flow About you as a garment, easily, Your violent heart beats to and fro! Long have I
Service of all the Dead
Between the avenues of cypresses, All in their scarlet cloaks, and surplices Of linen, go the chaunting choristers, The priests in gold and black, the villagers. And all along the path to the cemetery
Intimates
Don’t you care for my love? she said bitterly. I handed her the mirror, and said: Please address these questions to the proper person! Please make all requests to head-quarters! In all matters of
Tease
I will give you all my keys, You shall be my chвtelaine, You shall enter as you please, As you please shall go again. When I hear you jingling through All the chambers of
Malade
The sick grapes on the chair by the bed lie prone; at the window The tassel of the blind swings gently, tapping the pane, As a little wind comes in. The room is the
Lies About Love
We are a liars, because The truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, Whereas letters are fixed, And we live by the letter of truth. The love I feel for my friend, this year,