Theodore the Poet

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1. In Guernsey – To Theodore Watts The heavenly bay, ringed round with cliffs and moors, Storm-stained ravines, and crags that lawns inlay, Soothes as with love the rocks whose guard secures The heavenly bay. O friend, shall time take ever this away, This blessing given of beauty that endures, This glory shown us, not to pass but stay? Though sight be […]...
2. The Poet And His Book Down, you mongrel, Death! Back into your kennel! I have stolen breath In a stalk of fennel! You shall scratch and you shall whine Many a night, and you shall worry Many a bone, before you bury One sweet bone of mine! When shall I be dead? When my flesh is withered, And above my […]...
3. Robert Davidson I grew spiritually fat living off the souls of men. If I saw a soul that was strong I wounded its pride and devoured its strength. The shelters of friendship knew my cunning, For where I could steal a friend I did so. And wherever I could enlarge my power By undermining ambition, I did […]...
4. We Are Those People I have abhorred the wars and despised the liars, laughed at the frightened And forecast victory; never one moment’s doubt. But now not far, over the backs of some crawling years, the next Great war’s column of dust and fire writhes Up the sides of the sky: it becomes clear that we too may suffer […]...
5. Shall I take thee, the Poet said Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried The Poet searched Philology And when about to ring For the suspended Candidate There came unsummoned in That portion of the Vision The Word applied to fill Not unto nomination The Cherubim reveal...
6. Mother and Poet I. Dead! One of them shot by the sea in the east, And one of them shot in the west by the sea. Dead! both my boys! When you sit at the feast And are wanting a great song for Italy free, Let none look at me! II. Yet I was a poetess only last […]...
7. To A Young Poet Who Killed Himself When you had played with life a space And made it drink and lust and sing, You flung it back into God’s face And thought you did a noble thing. “Lo, I have lived and loved,” you said, “And sung to fools too dull to hear me. Now for a cool and grassy bed With […]...
8. 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 […]...
9. The Poet What instinct forces man to journey on, Urged by a longing blind but dominant! Nothing he sees can hold him, nothing daunt His never failing eagerness. The sun Setting in splendour every night has won His vassalage; those towers flamboyant Of airy cloudland palaces now haunt His daylight wanderings. Forever done With simple joys and […]...
10. Memorial Day For The War Dead Memorial day for the war dead. Add now The grief of all your losses to their grief, Even of a woman that has left you. Mix Sorrow with sorrow, like time-saving history, Which stacks holiday and sacrifice and mourning On one day for easy, convenient memory. Oh, sweet world soaked, like bread, In sweet milk […]...
11. Browning Decides To Be A Poet in these red labyrinths of London I find that I have chosen The strangest of all callings, Save that, in its way, any calling is strange. Like the alchemist Who sought the philosopher’s stone In quicksilver, I shall make everyday words The gambler’s marked cards, the common coin Give off the magic that was their […]...
12. Conqueror I was a gulp of high air – A bird breathing in, A black dot on blue paper, A privileged recipient Of finite sacrament Of souls of flying saints. That all happened the moment You taught me splendid roundness As defined by the touch of your lips. The other mysteries fell, one by one, Cities […]...
13. O Glorious France You have become a forge of snow-white fire, A crucible of molten steel, O France! Your sons are stars who cluster to a dawn And fade in light for you, O glorious France! They pass through meteor changes with a song Which to all islands and all continents Says life is neither comfort, wealth, nor […]...
14. The Absence I speak to you across cities I speak to you across plains My mouth is upon your pillow Both faces of the walls come meeting My voice discovering you I speak to you of eternity O cities memories of cities Cities wrapped in our desires Cities come early cities come lately Cities strong and cities […]...
15. The Poet And The Bird Said a people to a poet -” Go out from among us straightway! While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine. There’s a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!” The poet went out weeping – the nightingale ceased chanting; […]...
16. THE BAD SEASON MAKES THE POET SAD Dull to myself, and almost dead to these, My many fresh and fragrant mistresses; Lost to all music now, since every thing Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing. Sick is the land to th’ heart; and doth endure More dangerous faintings by her desperate cure. But if that golden age would come again, And […]...
17. Cino Italian Campagna 1309, the open road Bah! I have sung women in three cities, But it is all the same; And I will sing of the sun. Lips, words, and you snare them, Dreams, words, and they are as jewels, Strange spells of old deity, Ravens, nights, allurement: And they are not; Having become the […]...
18. Alone With Everybody the flesh covers the bone And they put a mind In there and Sometimes a soul, And the women break Vases against the walls And the men drink too Much And nobody finds the One But keep Looking Crawling in and out Of beds. Flesh covers The bone and the Flesh searches For more than […]...
19. Sea-Gulls of Manhattan Children of the elemental mother, Born upon some lonely island shore Where the wrinkled ripples run and whisper, Where the crested billows plunge and roar; Long-winged, tireless roamers and adventurers, Fearless breasters of the wind and sea, In the far-off solitary places I have seen you floating wild and free! Here the high-built cities rise […]...
20. To A Poet That Died Young Minstrel, what have you to do With this man that, after you, Sharing not your happy fate, Sat as England’s Laureate? Vainly, in these iron days, Strives the poet in your praise, Minstrel, by whose singing side Beauty walked, until you died. Still, though none should hark again, Drones the blue-fly in the pane, Thickly […]...
21. The Land of Counterpane When I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay, To keep me happy all the day. And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes, through the hills; And sometimes sent […]...
22. 153. Inscription for the Headstone of Fergusson the Poet NO 1 sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, “No storied urn nor animated bust;” This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way, To pour her sorrows o’er the Poet’s dust. ADDITIONAL STANZASShe mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate; Tho’ all the powers of song thy fancy fired, Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in state, […]...
23. I Loved I loved illustrious cities and the crowds That eddy through their incandescent nights. I loved remote horizons with far clouds Girdled, and fringed about with snowy heights. I loved fair women, their sweet, conscious ways Of wearing among hands that covet and plead The rose ablossom at the rainbow’s base That bounds the world’s desire […]...
24. The Poet's Calendar January Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues and gates, The years that through my portals come and go. I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow; I chase the wild-fowl from the frozen fen; My frosts congeal the rivers in […]...
25. A Minor Poet “What should such fellows as I do, Crawling between earth and heaven?” Here is the phial; here I turn the key Sharp in the lock. Click! there’s no doubt it turned. This is the third time; there is luck in threes Queen Luck, that rules the world, befriend me now And freely I’ll forgive you […]...
26. Dorcas Gustine I was not beloved of the villagers, But all because I spoke my mind, And met those who transgressed against me With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing Nor secret griefs nor grudges. That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised, Who hid the wolf under his cloak, Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly. It is […]...
27. Bards of Passion and of Mirth, written on the Blank Page before Beaumont and Fletcher's Tragi-Comedy 'The Fair Maid of the Inn&#039 BARDS of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Doubled-lived in regions new? Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wondrous, And the parle of voices thund’rous; With the whisper of heaven’s trees And […]...
28. Scholfield Huxley God! ask me not to record your wonders, I admit the stars and the suns And the countless worlds. But I have measured their distances And weighed them and discovered their substances. I have devised wings for the air, And keels for water, And horses of iron for the earth. I have lengthened the vision […]...
29. The Burial 1904(C. F. Rhodes, buried in the Matoppos, April 10, 1902) When that great Kings return to clay, Or Emperors in their pride, Grief of a day shall fill a day, Because its creature died. But we we reck on not with those Whom the mere Fates ordain, This Power that wrought on us and goes […]...
30. Hiding Place Hail sov’reign love that first began, The scheme to rescue fallen man; Hail matchless, free, eternal grace, That gave my soul a Hiding-Place. Against the God that rules the sky, I fought with hands uplifted high; Despis’d the mentions of his grace, Too proud to seek a Hiding-Place. Enwrapt in thick Egyptian night, And fond […]...
31. 56. Epistle to Davie, A Brother Poet WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, An’ bar the doors wi’ driving snaw, An’ hing us owre the ingle, I set me down to pass the time, An’ spin a verse or twa o’ rhyme, In hamely, westlin jingle. While frosty winds blaw in the drift, Ben to the chimla lug, I grudge a wee […]...
32. Kelly Of The Legion Now Kelly was no fighter; He loved his pipe and glass; An easygoing blighter, Who lived in Montparnasse. But ‘mid the tavern tattle He heard some guinney say: “When France goes forth to battle, The Legion leads the way. “The scourings of creation, Of every sin and station, The men who’ve known damnation, Are picked […]...
33. White Cockatoos Now the autumn maize is growing, Now the corn-cob fills, Where the Little River flowing Winds among the hills. Over mountain peaks outlying Clear against the blue Comes a scout in silence flying, One white cockatoo. Back he goes to where the meeting Waits among the trees. Says, “The corn is fit for eating; Hurry, […]...
34. To A Friend Concerning Several Ladies You know there is not much That I desire, a few chrysanthemums Half lying on the grass, yellow And brown and white, the Talk of a few people, the trees, An expanse of dried leaves perhaps With ditches among them. But there comes Between me and these things A letter Or even a look-well placed, […]...
35. A Minor Poet I am a shell. From me you shall not hear The splendid tramplings of insistent drums, The orbed gold of the viol’s voice that comes, Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear. Yet, if you hold me close against the ear, A dim, far whisper rises clamorously, The thunderous beat and passion of the sea, The […]...
36. The Poet Words flow onto paper like rain, forming giant rivers Of unseen lands. The very force guides us along a journey That holds of great adventure. We are the explorers of the literary world. We must find the courage to write what Others are unable to, with the greatest Of passion. A poet dreams. and then […]...
37. The Poet VIII He is a link between this and the coming world. He is A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink. He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing Fruit which the hungry heart craves; He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed Spirit with his beautiful melodies; He is a white […]...
38. The Neighbor Strange violin, why do you follow me? In how many foreign cities did you Speak of your lonely nights and those of mine. Are you being played by hundreds? Or by one? Do in all great cities men exist Who tormented and in deep despair Would have sought the river but for you? And why […]...
39. Sicily, December 1908 O garden isle, beloved by Sun and Sea, Whose bluest billows kiss thy curving bays, Whose amorous light enfolds thee in warm rays That fill with fruit each dark-leaved orange-tree, What hidden hatred hath the Earth for thee? Behold, again, in these dark, dreadful days, She trembles with her wrath, and swiftly lays Thy beauty […]...
40. Sex With A Famous Poet I had sex with a famous poet last night And when I rolled over and found myself beside him I shuddered Because I was married to someone else, Because I wasn’t supposed to have been drinking, Because I was in fancy hotel room I didn’t recognize. I would have told you Right off this was […]...