The Concert

Related poetry:

1. The Concert In memory of Dimitri Mitropoulos The harpist believes there is music In the skeletons of fish The French horn player believes In enormous golden snails The piano believes in nothing And grins from ear to ear Strings are scratching their bellies Openly, enjoying it Flutes and oboes complain In dialects of the same tongue Drumsticks […]...
2. Concert Party (EGYPTIAN BASE CAMP) They are gathering round…. Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand, Shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound – The jangle and throb of a piano… tum-ti-tum… Drawn by a lamp, they come Out of the glimmering lines of their tents, over the shuffling sand. O sing us the […]...
3. A Waltz-Quadrille The band was playing a waltz-quadrille, I felt as light as a wind-blown feather, As we floated away, at the caller’s will, Through the intricate, mazy dance together. Like mimic armies our lines were meeting, Slowly advancing, and then retreating, All decked in their bright array; And back and forth to the music’s rhyme We […]...
4. The Dark Hills Dark hills at evening in the west, Where sunset hovers like a sound Of golden horns that sang to rest Old bones of warriors under ground, Far now from all the bannered ways Where flash the legions of the sun, You fade as if the last of days Were fading, and all wars were done....
5. Room 5: The Concert Singer I’m one of these haphazard chaps Who sit in cafes drinking; A most improper taste, perhaps, Yet pleasant, to my thinking. For, oh, I hate discord and strife; I’m sadly, weakly human; And I do think the best of life Is wine and song and woman. Now, there’s that youngster on my right Who thinks […]...
6. Armies in the Fire The lamps now glitter down the street; Faintly sound the falling feet; And the blue even slowly falls About the garden trees and walls. Now in the falling of the gloom The red fire paints the empty room: And warmly on the roof it looks, And flickers on the back of books. Armies march by […]...
7. Band Concert BAND concert public square Nebraska city. Flowing and circling dresses, summer-white dresses. Faces, flesh tints flung like sprays of cherry blossoms. And gigglers, God knows, gigglers, rivaling the pony whinnies of the Livery Stable Blues. Cowboy rags and nigger rags. And boys driving sorrel horses hurl a cornfield laughter at the girls in dresses, summer-white […]...
8. Climbing High up in the apple tree climbing I go, With the sky above me, the earth below. Each branch is the step of a wonderful stair Which leads to the town I see shining up there. Climbing, climbing, higher and higher, The branches blow and I see a spire, The gleam of a turret, the […]...
9. Lois Spears Here lies the body of Lois Spears, Born Lois Fluke, daughter of Willard Fluke, Wife of Cyrus Spears, Mother of Myrtle and Virgil Spears, Children with clear eyes and sound limbs (I was born blind) I was the happiest of women As wife, mother and housekeeper, Caring for my loved ones, And making my home […]...
10. I Fellowed Sleep I fellowed sleep who kissed me in the brain, Let fall the tear of time; the sleeper’s eye, Shifting to light, turned on me like a moon. So, planning-heeled, I flew along my man And dropped on dreaming and the upward sky. I fled the earth and, naked, climbed the weather, Reaching a second ground […]...
11. A Crazed Girl That crazed girl improvising her music. Her poetry, dancing upon the shore, Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not where, Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship, Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing Heroically lost, heroically found. No matter what disaster occurred She […]...
12. Early Moon THE BABY moon, a canoe, a silver papoose canoe, sails and sails in the Indian west. A ring of silver foxes, a mist of silver foxes, sit and sit around the Indian moon. One yellow star for a runner, and rows of blue stars for more runners, keep a line of watchers. O foxes, baby […]...
13. I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair I do not love thee for that fair Rich fan of thy most curious hair; Though the wires thereof be drawn Finer than threads of lawn, And are softer than the leaves On which the subtle spider weaves. I do not love thee for those flowers Growing on thy cheeks, love’s bowers; Though such cunning […]...
14. The Silence Though the air is full of singing My head is loud With the labor of words. Though the season is rich With fruit, my tongue Hungers for the sweet of speech. Though the beech is golden I cannot stand beside it Mute, but must say “It is golden,” while the leaves Stir and fall with […]...
15. Southern Mansion Poplars are standing there still as death And ghosts of dead men Meet their ladies walking Two by two beneath the shade And standing on the marble steps. There is a sound of music echoing Through the open door And in the field there is Another sound tinkling in the cotton: Chains of bondmen dragging […]...
16. A Dream Within A Dream Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? […]...
17. Those Dancing Days Are Gone Come, let me sing into your ear; Those dancing days are gone, All that silk and satin gear; Crouch upon a stone, Wrapping that foul body up In as foul a rag: I carry the sun in a golden cup. The moon in a silver bag. Curse as you may I sing it through; What […]...
18. The Valley Of The Black Pig The dews drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes, And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears. We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore, The grey caim on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew, […]...
19. June I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, “Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton’s hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain-turf should break. […]...
20. Master of Music Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard, Living forever in temple and picture and statue and song, Look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and starred, Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn long! Where is the Master of Music, […]...
21. Tawny THESE are the tawny days: your face comes back. The grapes take on purple: the sunsets redden early on the trellis. The bashful mornings hurl gray mist on the stripes of sunrise. Creep, silver on the field, the frost is welcome. Run on, yellow balls on the hills, and you tawny pumpkin flowers, chasing your […]...
22. Durin The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone, When Durin woke and walked along. He named the nameless hills and delles; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stopped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, […]...
23. The Ringlet ‘Your ringlets, your ringlets, That look so golden-gay, If you will give me one, but one, To kiss it night and day, The never chilling touch of Time Will turn it silver-gray; And then shall I know it is all true gold To flame and sparkle and stream as of old. Till all the comets […]...
24. Merlin O Merlin in your crystal cave Deep in the diamond of the day, Will there ever be a singer Whose music will smooth away The furrow drawn by Adam’s finger Across the memory and the wave? Or a runner who’ll outrun Man’s long shadow driving on, Break through the gate of memory And hang the […]...
25. The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag I hunt for the golden stag. You may smile, my friends, but I Pursue the vision that eludes me. I run across hills and dales, I wander Through nameless lands, because I am Hunting for the golden stag. You come and buy in the market And go back to your homes laden with Goods, but […]...
26. Fields of Soria Hills of silver plate, Grey heights, dark red rocks Through which the Duero bends Its crossbow arc Round Soria, shadowed oaks, Stone dry-lands, naked mountains, White roads and river poplars, Twilights of Soria, warlike and mystical, Today I feel, for you, In my hearts depths, sadness, Sadness of love! Fields of Soria, Where it seems […]...
27. Birches When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy’s been swinging them. But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon […]...
28. The Piper AGAIN I hear you piping, for I know the tune so well, – You rouse the heart to wander and be free, Tho’ where you learned your music, not the God of song can tell, For you pipe the open highway and the sea. O piper, lightly footing, lightly piping on your way, Tho’ your […]...
29. Mist In The Valley These hills, to hurt me more, That am hurt already enough,- Having left the sea behind, Having turned suddenly and left the shore That I had loved beyond all words, even a song’s words, to Convey, And built me a house on upland acres, Sweet with the pinxter, bright and rough With the rusty blackbird […]...
30. On Leaving Some Friends At An Early Hour Give me a golden pen, and let me lean On heaped-up flowers, in regions clear, and far; Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, Or hand of hymning angel, when ’tis seen The silver strings of heavenly harp atween: And let there glide by many a pearly car Pink robes, and wavy hair, and […]...
31. He Gives His Beloved Certain Rhymes Fasten your hair with a golden pin, And bind up every wandering tress; I bade my heart build these poor rhymes: It worked at them, day out, day in, Building a sorrowful loveliness Out of the battles of old times. You need but lift a pearl-pale hand, And bind up your long hair and sigh; […]...
32. The Floods The rain it rains without a stay In the hills above us, in the hills; And presently the floods break way Whose strength is in the hills. The trees they suck from every cloud, The valley brooks they roar aloud Bank-high for the lowlands, lowlands, Lowlands under the hills! The first wood down is sere […]...
33. The Battle of Flodden Field ‘Twas on the 9th of September, a very beautiful day, That a numerous English army came in grand array, And pitched their tents on Flodden field so green In the year of our Lord fifteen hundred and thirteen. And on the ridge of Braxton hill the Scottish army lay, All beautifully arrayed, and eager for […]...
34. Lost You left me with the autumn time; When the winter stripped the forest bare, Then dressed it in his spotless rime; When frosts were lurking in the air You left me here and went away. The winds were cold; you could not stay. You sought a warmer clime, until The south wind, artful maid, should […]...
35. 239. Song-My Bonie Mary GO, fetch to me a pint o’ wine, And fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink before I go, A service to my bonie lassie. The boat rocks at the pier o’ Leith; Fu’ loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry; The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my […]...
36. Sonnet LXIII Against my love shall be, as I am now, With Time’s injurious hand crush’d and o’er-worn; When hours have drain’d his blood and fill’d his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn Hath travell’d on to age’s steepy night, And all those beauties whereof now he’s king Are vanishing or vanish’d out of […]...
37. Modern Love XXXIX: She Yields She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood Has yielded: she, my golden-crownèd rose! The bride of every sense! more sweet than those Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood. O visage of still music in the sky Soft moon! I feel thy song, my fairest friend! True harmony within can apprehend Dumb harmony without. […]...
38. Sonnet CXXX My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask’d, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And […]...
39. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130) My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And […]...
40. The Ancient Speech A Gaelic bard they praise who in fourteen adjectives Named the one indivisible soul of his glen; For what are the bens and the glens but manifold qualities, Immeasurable complexities of soul? What are these isles but a song sung by island voices? The herdsman sings ancestral memories And the song makes the singer wise, […]...