She is Overheard Singing
OH, Prue she has a patient man, And Joan a gentle lover, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth, But my true love’s a rover! Mig, her man’s as good as cheese And honest as
The Merry Maid
OH, I am grown so free from care Since my heart broke! I set my throat against the air, I laugh at simple folk! There’s little kind and little fair Is worth its weight
Sonnet 01: Thou Art Not Lovelier Than Lilacs,-No
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,-no, Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair Than small white single poppies,-I can bear Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though From left to right, not knowing
Wraith
“Thin Rain, whom are you haunting, That you haunt my door?” -Surely it is not I she’s wanting; Someone living here before- “Nobody’s in the house but me: You may come in if you
Ebb
I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the
I Know The Face Of Falsehood And Her Tongue
I know the face of Falsehood and her Tongue Honeyed with unction, Plausible with guile, Are dear to men, whom count me not among, That owe their daily credit to her smile; Such have
Passer Mortuus Est
Death devours all lovely things; Lesbia with her sparrow Shares the darkness,-presently Every bed is narrow. Unremembered as old rain Dries the sheer libation, And the little petulant hand Is an annotation. After all,
Dirge
Boys and girls that held her dear, Do your weeping now; All you loved of her lies here. Brought to earth the arrogant brow, And the withering tongue Chastened; do your weeping now. Sing
Journey
Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me-I am so tired, so tired Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
Oh, Think Not I Am Faithful
III OH, THINK not I am faithful to a vow! Faithless am I save to love’s self alone. Were you not lovely I would leave you now: After the feet of beauty fly my
Sorrow
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain,- Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start. People dress and
Underground System
Set the foot down with distrust upon the crust of the world-it is thin. Moles are at work beneath us; they have tunneled the sub-soil With separate chambers; which at an appointed knock Could
Justice Denied In Massachusetts
Let us abandon then our gardens and go home And sit in the sitting-room Shall the larkspur blossom or the corn grow under this cloud? Sour to the fruitful seed Is the cold earth
MacDougal Street
AS I went walking up and down to take the evening air, (Sweet to meet upon the street, why must I be so shy?) I saw him lay his hand upon her torn black
The Singing-Woman From The Wood's Edge
What should I be but a prophet and a liar, Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar? Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water, What should I be but the