A St. Valentine's Day Tragedy

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1. Two valentines I. TO MISTRESS BARBARA There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true, On Valentine’s day came a maiden to woo, And quoth to your mother: “Good-morrow, my dear, We came with some songs for your daughter to hear!” Your mother replied: “I’ll be pleased to convey To my daughter what things you may sing or […]...
2. To Kate. (In Lieu Of A Valentine) Sweet Love and I had oft communed; We were, indeed, great friends, And oft I sought his office, near Where Courtship Alley ends. I used to sit with him, and smoke, And talk of your blue eyes, And argue how I best might act To make your heart my prize. He always seemed to have […]...
3. A Tragedy Among his books he sits all day To think and read and write; He does not smell the new-mown hay, The roses red and white. I walk among them all alone, His silly, stupid wife; The world seems tasteless, dead and done – An empty thing is life. At night his window casts a square […]...
4. To May I have no heart to write verses to May; I have no heart-yet I’m cheerful today; I have no heart-she has won mine away So-I have no heart to write verses to May....
5. Violet De Vere You’ve heard of Violet de Vere, strip-teaser of renown, Whose sitting-base out-faired the face of any girl in town; Well, she was haled before the Bench for breachin’ of the Peace, Which signifies araisin’ Cain, an’ beatin’ up the police. So there she stood before the Court of ruddy Judge McGraw Whom folks called Old […]...
6. The Tragedy Oh, I never felt so wretched, and things never looked so blue Since the days I gulped the physic that my Granny used to brew; For a friend in whom I trusted, entering my room last night, Stole a bottleful of Heenzo from the desk whereon I write. I am certain sure he did it […]...
7. The End of the World Here, at the end of the world, The flowers bleed As if they were hearts, The hearts ooze a darkness Like india ink, & poets dip their pens in & they write. “Here, at the end of the world,” They write, Not knowing what it means. “Here, where the sky nurses on black milk, Where […]...
8. Valentine To The Girl In Black In hand I take this pen of mine To write you, sweet, a valentine; I’d take your dainty hand instead, But-you’re a drawing-I am wed- And that is why, you understand, I only take my pen in hand....
9. 380. Song-Saw ye Bonie Lesley O SAW ye bonie Lesley, As she gaed o’er the Border? She’s gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; For Nature made her what she is, And never made anither! Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects, we before thee; […]...
10. Tragedy A MAN went forth one day at eve: The long day’s toil for him was done: The eye that scanned the page could leave Its task until tomorrow’s sun. Upon the threshold where he stood Flared on his tired eyes the sight, Where host on host the multitude Burned fiercely in the dusky night. The […]...
11. Bonnie Lesley O saw ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o’er the Border? She’s gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; For Nature made her what she is, And ne’er made sic anither! Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before […]...
12. Life's Tragedy It may be misery not to sing at all, And to go silent through the brimming day; It may be misery never to be loved, But deeper griefs than these beset the way. To sing the perfect song, And by a half-tone lost the key, There the potent sorrow, there the grief, The pale, sad […]...
13. Sonnet XXVI Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage, To witness duty, not to show my wit: Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good […]...
14. Sonnet 26: Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage To witness duty, not to show my wit- Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good […]...
15. Lines from I’d rather have my verses win A place in common people’s hearts, Who, toiling through the strife and din Of life’s great thoroughfares, and marts, May read some line my hand has penned; Some simple verse, not fine, or grand, But what their hearts can understand And hold me henceforth as a friend, I’d rather […]...
16. The Token Send me some token, that my hope may live, Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest; Send me some honey to make sweet my hive, That in my passions I may hope the best. I beg no riband wrought with thine own hands, To knit our loves in the fantastic strain Of new-touched […]...
17. Echoes Lady Clara Vere de Vere Was eight years old, she said: Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread. She took her little porringer: Of me she shall not win renown: For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her Down. “Sisters and brothers, little Maid? There stands the Inspector at […]...
18. The Vulgar Little Lady “But, mamma, now, ” said Charlotte, “pray, don’t you believe That I’m better than Jenny, my nurse? Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve; Her clothes are a thousand times worse. “I ride in my coach, and have nothing to do, And the country folks stare at me so; And nobody […]...
19. Finery In an elegant frock, trimm’d with beautiful lace, And hair nicely curl’d, hanging over her face, Young Fanny went out to the house of a friend, With a large little party the evening to spend. “Ah! how they will all be delighted, I guess, And stare with surprise at my handsome new dress!” Thus said […]...
20. Sonnet CLIV The little Love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow’d chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warm’d; And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping by […]...
21. Sonnet 103: Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside. O, blame me not if I no more can write! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That overgoes my blunt […]...
22. Heretic's Tragedy, The A MIDDLE-AGE INTERLUDE. ROSA MUNDI; SEU, FULCITE ME FLORIBUS. A CONCEIT OF MASTER GYSBRECHT, CANON-REGULAR OF SAID JODOCUS-BY-THE-BAR, YPRES CITY. CANTUQUE, Virgilius. AND HATH OFTEN BEEN SUNG AT HOCK-TIDE AND FESTIVALES. GAVISUS ERAM, Jessides. (It would seem to be a glimpse from the Burning of Jacques du Bourg-Mulay, at Paris, A. D. 1314; as distorted […]...
23. Lines Draw a line. Write a line. There. Stay in line, hold the line, a glance Between the lines is fine but don’t Turn corners, cross, cut in, go over Or out, between two points of no Return’s a line of flight, between Two points of view’s a line of vision. But a line of thought […]...
24. Sonnet 154: The little Love-god lying once asleep The little love god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand, The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warmed, And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping […]...
25. Watching the Needleboats at San Sabba I heard their young hearts crying Loveward above the glancing oar And heard the prairie grasses sighing: No more, return no more! O hearts, O sighing grasses, Vainly your loveblown bannerets mourn! No more will the wild wind that passes Return, no more return....
26. A Domestic Tragedy Clorinda met me on the way As I came from the train; Her face was anything but gay, In fact, suggested pain. “Oh hubby, hubby dear!” she cried, “I’ve awful news to tell. . . .” “What is it, darling?” I replied; “Your mother is she well?” “Oh no! oh no! it is not that, […]...
27. Good Friday O my chief good, How shall I measure out thy blood? How shall I count what thee befell, And each grief tell? Shall I thy woes Number according to thy foes? Or, since one star show’d thy first breath, Shall all thy death? Or shall each leaf, Which falls in Autumn, score a grief? Or […]...
28. Love (II) Immortal Heat, O let thy greater flame Attract the lesser to it: let those fires Which shall consume the world, first make it tame, And kindle in our hearts such true desires, As may consume our lusts, and make thee way. Then shall our hearts pant thee; then shall our brain All her invention on […]...
29. Fragment of a Greek Tragedy CHORUS: O suitably-attired-in-leather-boots Head of a traveller, wherefore seeking whom Whence by what way how purposed art thou come To this well-nightingaled vicinity? My object in inquiring is to know. But if you happen to be deaf and dumb And do not understand a word I say, Then wave your hand, to signify as much. […]...
30. Sonnet XLV The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, wherever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life, being made of four, with two alone Sinks down to […]...
31. A Curse For A Nation I heard an angel speak last night, And he said ‘Write! Write a Nation’s curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea.’ I faltered, taking up the word: ‘Not so, my lord! If curses must be, choose another To send thy curse against my brother. ‘For I am bound by gratitude, By love […]...
32. Tonight I Can Write Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, ‘The night is starry And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’ The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I […]...
33. Sonnet XXI: A Witless Galant A witless gallant a young wench that woo’d (Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move), Entreated me, as e’er I wish’d his good, To write him but one sonnet to his love; When I, as fast as e’er my pen could trot, Pour’d out what first from quick invention came, Nor never […]...
34. The Broken Heart He is stark mad, who ever says, That he hath been in love an hour, Yet not that love so soon decays, But that it can ten in less space devour; Who will believe me, if I swear That I have had the plague a year? Who would not laugh at me, if I should […]...
35. The Outer from the Inner The Outer from the Inner Derives its Magnitude ‘Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood The fine unvarying Axis That regulates the Wheel Though Spokes spin more conspicuous And fling a dust the while. The Inner paints the Outer The Brush without the Hand Its Picture publishes precise As is the inner […]...
36. THE PRIMROSE Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl’d with dew? I will whisper to your ears, The sweets of love are mixt with tears. Ask me why this flower does show So yellow-green, and sickly too? Ask me why […]...
37. The Power of the Dog There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear. Buy a pup and your money will […]...
38. The Primrose Ask me why I send you here The firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you This primrose all bepearled with dew: I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are washed with tears. Ask me why this flower doth show So yellow, green, and sickly too; Ask […]...
39. Comfort Say! You’ve struck a heap of trouble Bust in business, lost your wife; No one cares a cent about you, You don’t care a cent for life; Hard luck has of hope bereft you, Health is failing, wish you’d die Why, you’ve still the sunshine left you And the big, blue sky. Sky so blue […]...
40. Sonnet XXXV: Some, Misbelieving To Miracle Some, misbelieving and profane in love, When I do speak of miracles by thee, May say, that thou art flattered by me, Who only write my skill in verse to prove. See miracles, ye unbelieving, see A dumb-born Muse made t’express the mind, A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, One […]...