Sonnets 01: We Talk Of Taxes, And I Call You Friend
We talk of taxes, and I call you friend; Well, such you are,-but well enough we know How thick about us root, how rankly grow Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,
To The Not Impossible Him
How shall I know, unless I go To Cairo and Cathay, Whether or not this blessed spot Is blest in every way? Now it may be, the flower for me Is this beneath my
Sonnet 02: Time Does Not Bring Relief; You All Have Lied
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking
Sonnets 03: Not With Libations, But With Shouts And Laughter
Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter We drenched the altars of Love’s sacred grove, Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after The launching of the colored moths of Love. Love’s proper myrtle
Lament
Listen, children: Your father is dead. From his old coats I’ll make you little jackets; I’ll make you little trousers From his old pants. There’ll be in his pockets Things he used to put
The Spring And The Fall
In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The trees were black where the bark was wet. I see them yet, in the
Sonnets From An Ungrafted Tree
XLI I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind, Am urged by your propinquity to find Your person fair, and feel a certain zest To bear
Exiled
Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of words and people, Sick of the city, wanting the sea; Wanting the sticky, salty
Souvenir
Just a rainy day or two In a windy tower, That was all I had of you- Saving half an hour. Marred by greeting passing groups In a cinder walk, Near some naked blackberry
Love, Though for This
I LOVE, though for this you riddle me with darts, And drag me at your chariot till I die, Oh, heavy prince! O, panderer of hearts! Yet hear me tell how in their throats
Sonnets 10: Oh, My Beloved, Have You Thought Of This
Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this: How in the years to come unscrupulous Time, More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss, And make you old, and leave me in
Apostrophe To Man
(On reflecting that the world is ready to go to war again) Detestable race, continue to expunge yourself, die out. Breed faster, crowd, encroach, sing hymns, build bombing airplanes; Make speeches, unveil statues, issue
Invocation To The Muses
Read by the poet at The Public Ceremonial of The Naional Institute Of Arts and Letters at Carnegie Hall, New York, January 18th, 1941. Great Muse, that from this hall absent for long Hast
Sweet Love, Sweet Thorn, When Lightly To My Heart
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain, While
Ashes Of Life
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike; Eat I must, and sleep I will,-and would that night were here! But ah!-to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!