Aaron Hatfield

Related poetry:

1. Church And State Here is fresh matter, poet, Matter for old age meet; Might of the Church and the State, Their mobs put under their feet. O but heart’s wine shall run pure, Mind’s bread grow sweet. That were a cowardly song, Wander in dreams no more; What if the Church and the State Are the mob that […]...
2. Neighbours My neighbour has a field of wheat And I a rood of vine; And he will give me bread to eat, And I will give him wine. And so we are a jolly pair, Contentedly unwed, Singing with supper as we share Red wine and crusty bread. Now venison is mighty meat And so is […]...
3. When I'm Killed When I’m killed, don’t think of me Buried there in Cambrin Wood, Nor as in Zion think of me With the Intolerable Good. And there’s one thing that I know well, I’m damned if I’ll be damned to Hell! So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, […]...
4. At Mass No doubt to-morrow I will hide My face from you, my King. Let me rejoice this Sunday noon, And kneel while gray priests sing. It is not wisdom to forget. But since it is my fate Fill thou my soul with hidden wine To make this white hour great. My God, my God, this marvelous […]...
5. Jacke-On-Both-Sides I hold as fayth What Rome’s Church sayth Where the King’s head, That flock’s misled Where th’ Altar’s drest That People’s blest Who shuns the Masse Hee’s but an Asse Who Charity preach They Heav’n soone reach On Fayth t’rely, ‘Tis heresy What England’s Church allows My Conscience disavowes; That Church can have no seame; […]...
6. Litany You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine… – Jacques Crickillon You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass And the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker, And the marsh […]...
7. The Immortals I killed them, but they would not die. Yea! all the day and all the night For them I could not rest or sleep, Nor guard from them nor hide in flight. Then in my agony I turned And made my hands red in their gore. In vain – for faster than I slew They […]...
8. A Noon Song There are songs for the morning and songs for the night, For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon; But who will give praise to the fulness of light, And sing us a song of the glory of noon? Oh, the high noon, the clear noon, The noon with golden crest; When the blue […]...
9. Arise Why sit ye idly dreaming all the day, While the golden, precious hours flit away? See you not the day is waning, waning fast? That the morn’s already vanished in the past? When the glowing noon approaches, we will rest Who have worked through all the morning; but at best, If you work with zeal […]...
10. Aaron Holiness on the head, Light and perfection on the breast, Harmonious bells below, raising the dead To led them unto life and rest. Thus are true Aarons dressed. Profaneness in my head, Defects and darkness in my breast, A noise of passions ringing me for dead Unto a place where is no rest. Poor priest […]...
11. Aaron Stark Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark, Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose. A miser was he, with a miser’s nose, And eyes like little dollars in the dark. His thin, pinched mouth was nothing but a mark; And when he spoke there came like sullen blows Through scattered fangs a few snarled words […]...
12. Elmer Karr What but the love of God could have softened And made forgiving the people of Spoon River Toward me who wronged the bed of Thomas Merritt And murdered him beside? Oh, loving hearts that took me in again When I returned from fourteen years in prison! Oh, helping hands that in the church received me, […]...
13. E TENEBRIS Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand, For I am drowning in a stormier sea Than Simon on Thy lake of Galilee: The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, My heart is as some famine-murdered land Whence all good things have perished utterly, And well I know my soul in […]...
14. The Poet's Love-Song In noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong, I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind The world to my desire, and hold the wind A voiceless captive to my conquering song. I need thee not, I am content with these: Keep silence in thy soul, beyond the seas! But in the desolate […]...
15. Last Curtain I know that the day will come When my sight of this earth shall be lost, And life will take its leave in silence, Drawing the last curtain over my eyes. Yet stars will watch at night, And morning rise as before, And hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains. When I […]...
16. Reuben Pantier Well, Emily Sparks, your prayers were not wasted, Your love was not all in vain. I owe whatever I was in life To your hope that would not give me up, To your love that saw me still as good. Dear Emily Sparks, let me tell you the story. I pass the effect of my […]...
17. The Town Marshal The Prohibitionists made me Town Marshal When the saloons were voted out, Because when I was a drinking man, Before I joined the church, I killed a Swede At the saw-mill near Maple Grove. And they wanted a terrible man, Grim, righteous, strong, courageous, And a hater of saloons and drinkers, To keep law and […]...
18. The Soul has Bandaged moments The Soul has Bandaged moments When too appalled to stir She feels some ghastly Fright come up And stop to look at her Salute her with long fingers Caress her freezing hair Sip, Goblin, from the very lips The Lover hovered o’er Unworthy, that a thought so mean Accost a Theme so fair The soul […]...
19. Banquet Night “ONCE in so often,” King Solomon said, Watching his quarrymen drill the stone, “We will curb our garlic and wine and bread And banquet together beneath my Throne, And all Brethren shall come to that mess As Fellow-Craftsmen-no more and no less.” “Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre, Felling and floating our beautiful […]...
20. Child of the Romans THE dago shovelman sits by the railroad track Eating a noon meal of bread and bologna. A train whirls by, and men and women at tables Alive with red roses and yellow jonquils, Eat steaks running with brown gravy, Strawberries and cream, eclaires and coffee. The dago shovelman finishes the dry bread and bologna, Washes […]...
21. Philadelphia “Brother Square-Toes” Rewards and Fairies. If you’re off to Philadelphia in the morning, You mustn’t take my stories for a guide. There’s little left, indeed, of the city you will read of, And all the folk I write about have died. Now few will understand if you mention Talleyrand, Or remember what his cunning and […]...
22. The Sun-Dial at Wells College The shadow by my finger cast Divides the future from the past: Before it, sleeps the unborn hour In darkness, and beyond thy power: Behind its unreturning line, The vanished hour, no longer thine: One hour alone is in thy hands, The NOW on which the shadow stands....
23. The Broken Tryst That day a fire was in my blood; I could have sung: joy wrapt me round; The men I met seemed all so good, I scarcely knew I trod the ground. How easy seemed all toil! I laughed To think that once I hated it. The sunlight thrilled like wine, I quaffed Delight, divine and […]...
24. Lydia Humphrey Back and forth, back and forth, to and from the church, With my Bible under my arm Till I was gray and old; Unwedded, alone in the world, Finding brothers and sisters in the congregation, And children in the church. I know they laughed and thought me queer. I knew of the eagle souls that […]...
25. At Home When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much-frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each. I […]...
26. Tor House If you should look for this place after a handful of lifetimes: Perhaps of my planted forest a few May stand yet, dark-leaved Australians or the coast cypress, haggard With storm-drift; but fire and the axe are devils. Look for foundations of sea-worn granite, my fingers had the art To make stone love stone, you […]...
27. House Of Silence The winter sun, golden and tired, Settles on the irregular army Of bottles. Outside the trucks Jostle toward the open road, Outside it’s Saturday afternoon, And young women in black pass by Arm in arm. This bar Is the house of silence, and we drink To silence without raising our voices In the old way. […]...
28. The Boy And the Angel Morning, evening, noon and night, ”Praise God!; sang Theocrite. Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned. Hard he laboured, long and well; O’er his work the boy’s curls fell. But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, ”Praise God!” Then back again his curls he threw, And cheerful […]...
29. In A Vacant House Someone was calling someone; Now they’ve stopped. Beyond the glass The rose vines quiver as in A light wind, but there is none: I hear nothing. The moments pass, Or seem to pass, and the sun, Risen above the old birch, Steadies for the downward arch. It is noon. Privacy is One thing, but to […]...
30. Zermatt to the Matterhorn Thirty-two years since, up against the sun, Seven shapes, thin atomies to lower sight, Labouringly leapt and gained thy gabled height, And four lives paid for what the seven had won. They were the first by whom the deed was done, And when I look at thee, my mind takes flight To that day’s tragic […]...
31. Diary of a Church Mouse Here among long-discarded cassocks, Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks, Here where the vicar never looks I nibble through old service books. Lean and alone I spend my days Behind this Church of England baize. I share my dark forgotten room With two oil-lamps and half a broom. The cleaner never bothers me, So here […]...
32. Harold Arnett I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick, Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm, Weak from the noon-day heat. A church bell sounded mournfully far away, I heard the cry of a baby, And the coughing of John Yarnell, Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying, Then the violent voice of my wife: “Watch out, the potatoes […]...
33. The Journey The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; And the flowers were all merry by the roadside; And the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds While we busily went on our way and paid no heed. We sang no glad songs nor played; We went not to […]...
34. An Old Story (Retold in Rhyme) They threw him in a prison cell; He moaned upon his bed. And when he crept from coils of hell: “Last night you killed,” they said. “last night in drunken rage you slew A being brave with breath; A radiant soul, because of you Lies dark in death.” “last night I killed,” […]...
35. The "don'ts" and "zeros&quot The night That strangled The endless moments I had wished To live, Passed by Without my lighting up The candle I had longed To warm up All the “don’ts” and “zeros”....
36. The Hippopotamus Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros autem, ut concilium Dei et Conjunctionem Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de quibus suadeo vos sic Habeo. S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos. And when this epistle is read among you, cause that it be read also in […]...
37. Ne'er Ask the Hour Ne’er ask the hour what is it to us How Time deals out his treasures? The golden moments lent us thus Are not his coin, but Pleasure’s. If counting them o’er could add to their blisses, I’d number each glorious second: But moments of joy are, like Lesbia’s kisses, Too quick and sweet to be […]...
38. Poppies on the Wheat Along Ancona’s hills the shimmering heat, A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro To mark the shore. The farmer does […]...
39. Middle-Age Enthusiasms To M. H. WE passed where flag and flower Signalled a jocund throng; We said: “Go to, the hour Is apt!” and joined the song; And, kindling, laughed at life and care, Although we knew no laugh lay there. We walked where shy birds stood Watching us, wonder-dumb; Their friendship met our mood; We cried: […]...
40. Jonathan Houghton There is the caw of a crow, And the hesitant song of a thrush. There is the tinkle of a cowbell far away, And the voice of a plowman on Shipley’s hill. The forest beyond the orchard is still With midsummer stillness; And along the road a wagon chuckles, Loaded with corn, going to Atterbury. […]...