Patience
A wind comes from the north Blowing little flocks of birds Like spray across the town, And a train, roaring forth, Rushes stampeding down With cries and flying curds Of steam, out of the
Listening
I listen to the stillness of you, My dear, among it all; I feel your silence touch my words as I talk, And take them in thrall. My words fly off a forge The
The Wild Common
The quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping, Little jets of sunlight-texture imitating flame; Above them, exultant, the peewits are sweeping: They are lords of the desolate wastes of sadness their screamings proclaim.
Dissolute
Many years have I still to burn, detained Like a candle flame on this body; but I enshine A darkness within me, a presence which sleeps contained In my flame of living, her soul
To Women As Far As I'm Concerned
The feelings I don’t have I don’t have. The feeling I don’t have, I won’t say I have. The feelings you say you have, you don’t have. The feelings you would like us both
Beautiful Old Age
It ought to be lovely to be old To be full of the peace that comes of experience And wrinkled ripe fulfilment. The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life Lived undaunted and
Anxiety
The hoar-frost crumbles in the sun, The crisping steam of a train Melts in the air, while two black birds Sweep past the window again. Along the vacant road, a red Bicycle approaches; I
Lotus Hurt by the Cold
How many times, like lotus lilies risen Upon the surface of a river, there Have risen floating on my blood the rare Soft glimmers of my hope escaped from prison. So I am clothed
The Hands of the Betrothed
Her tawny eyes are onyx of thoughtlessness, Hardened they are like gems in ancient modesty; Yea, and her mouth’s prudent and crude caress Means even less than her many words to me. Though her
Discord in Childhood
Outside the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips, And at night when the wind arose, the lash of the tree Shrieked and slashed the wind, as a ship’s Weird rigging in a storm
Last Words to Miriam
Yours is the shame and sorrow, But the disgrace is mine; Your love was dark and thorough, Mine was the love of the sun for a flower He creates with his shine. I was
A Love Song
Reject me not if I should say to you I do forget the sounding of your voice, I do forget your eyes that searching through The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice. Yet, when
Trees In The Garden
Ah in the thunder air How still the trees are! And the lime-tree, lovely and tall, every leaf silent Hardly looses even a last breath of perfume. And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree