Bereaved of all, I went abroad

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1. It makes no difference abroad It makes no difference abroad The Seasons fit the same The Mornings blossom into Noons And split their Pods of Flame Wild flowers kindle in the Woods The Brooks slam all the Day No Black bird bates his Banjo For passing Calvary Auto da Fe and Judgment Are nothing to the Bee His separation from […]...
2. Of all the Sounds despatched abroad Of all the Sounds despatched abroad, There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boughs That phraseless Melody The Wind does working like a Hand, Whose fingers Comb the Sky Then quiver down with tufts of Tune Permitted Gods, and me Inheritance, it is, to us Beyond the Art to Earn […]...
3. The Superseded I As newer comers crowd the fore, We drop behind. – We who have laboured long and sore Times out of mind, And keen are yet, must not regret To drop behind. II Yet there are of us some who grieve To go behind; Staunch, strenuous souls who scarce believe Their fires declined, And know […]...
4. Awake, My Heart Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake The o’ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake! She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee: Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, Already they watch the path thy […]...
5. Home From Abroad Far-fetched with tales of other worlds and ways, My skin well-oiled with wines of the Levant, I set my face into a filial smile To greet the pale, domestic kiss of Kent. But shall I never learn? That gawky girl, Recalled so primly in my foreign thoughts, Becomes again the green-haired queen of love Whose […]...
6. The Grave and The Rose The Grave said to the Rose, “What of the dews of dawn, Love’s flower, what end is theirs?” “And what of spirits flown, The souls whereon doth close The tomb’s mouth unawares?” The Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said, “In the shade From the dawn’s tears is made A perfume faint and strange, […]...
7. Home Thoughts, From Abroad Oh, to be in England Now that April’s there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England-now! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and […]...
8. TO THE MAIDS, TO WALK ABROAD Come, sit we under yonder tree, Where merry as the maids we’ll be; And as on primroses we sit, We’ll venture, if we can, at wit; If not, at draw-gloves we will play, So spend some minutes of the day; Or else spin out the thread of sands, Playing at questions and commands: Or tell […]...
9. Grace My stock lies dead and no increase Doth my dull husbandry improve: O let thy graces without cease Drop from above! If still the sun should hide his face, Thy house would but a dungeon prove, Thy works, night’s captives: O let grace Drop from above! The dew doth ev’ry morning fall; And shall the […]...
10. Banish Air from Air Banish Air from Air Divide Light if you dare They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop Or Pellets of Shape Fit Films cannot annul Odors return whole Force Flame And with a Blonde push Over your impotence Flits Steam....
11. Snail Poem Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired & handsome felt, Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at blown up clowd. Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound of rain dribble thru this layer down to the roots that will tickle my ear. […]...
12. Out of the Rolling Ocean, the Crowd 1 OUT of the rolling ocean, the crowd, came a drop gently to me, Whispering, I love you, before long I die, I have travel’d a long way, merely to look on you, to touch you, For I could not die till I once look’d on you, For I fear’d I might afterward lose you. […]...
13. Prairie Waters by Night CHATTER of birds two by two raises a night song joining a litany of running water-sheer waters showing the russet of old stones remembering many rains. And the long willows drowse on the shoulders of the running water, and sleep from much music; joined songs of day-end, feathery throats and stony waters, in a choir […]...
14. Lily-Bell and Thistledown Song I Awake! Awake! for the earliest gleam Of golden sunlight shines On the rippling waves, that brightly flow Beneath the flowering vines. Awake! Awake! for the low, sweet chant Of the wild-birds’ morning hymn Comes floating by on the fragrant air, Through the forest cool and dim; Then spread each wing, And work, and sing, Through […]...
15. BRIDE OF THE WIND for Brenda Both had come with no gardener but the soul; I had myself expressed them in weariness, Like the last drop of milk from your tired breast. The red rose was no rose for me. My black rose shone in a silver dawn In the throat of the wind. On the tongue of the […]...
16. Dew-drop and Diamond The difference between you and her (whom I to you did once prefer) Is clear enough to settle: She like a diamond shone, but you Shine like an early drop of dew Poised on a red rose petal. The dew-drop carries in its eye Mountain and forest, sea and sky, With every change of weather; […]...
17. Drink To Her Drink to her who long Hath waked the poet’s sigh, The girl who gave to song What gold could never buy. Oh! woman’s heart was made For minstrel hands alone; By other fingers play’d, It yields not half the tone. Then here’s to her who long Hath waked the poet’s sigh, The girl who gave […]...
18. Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint Never let me lose the marvel Of your statue-like eyes, or the accent The solitary rose of your breath Places on my cheek at night. I am afraid of being, on this shore, A branchless trunk, and what I most regret Is having no flower, pulp, or clay For the worm of my despair. If […]...
19. Yee Bow They got me into the Sunday-school In Spoon River And tried to get me to drop Confucius for Jesus. I could have been no worse off If I had tried to get them to drop Jesus for Confucius. For, without any warning, as if it were a prank, And sneaking up behind me, Harry Wiley, […]...
20. The Dawning Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns ; Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth ; Unfold thy forehead, gathered into frowns ; Thy Saviour comes, and with Him mirth : Awake, awake, And with a thankful heart His comforts take. But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry, And feel His death, […]...
21. Poetry Of Departures Sometimes you hear, fifth-hand, As epitaph: He chucked up everything And just cleared off, And always the voice will sound Certain you approve This audacious, purifying, Elemental move. And they are right, I think. We all hate home And having to be there: I detect my room, It’s specially-chosen junk, The good books, the good […]...
22. Autumn Love Search. Search. Seek. Seek. Cold. Cold. Clear. Clear. Sorrow. Sorrow. Pain. Pain. Hot flashes. Sudden chills. Stabbing pains. Slow agonies. I can find no peace. I drink two cups, then three bowls, Of clear wine until I can’t Stand up against a gust of wind. Wild geese fly over head. They wrench my heart. They […]...
23. I think just how my shape will rise I think just how my shape will rise When I shall be “forgiven” Till Hair and Eyes and timid Head Are out of sight in Heaven I think just how my lips will weigh With shapeless quivering prayer That you so late “Consider” me The “Sparrow” of your Care I mind me that of Anguish […]...
24. A final journeying Steve is gone, I hardly can believe The man wont cry again, I cannot credit that His energy wont bloom And burst the candid pane That kept us so aware of just How much he really, really cared. I grieve for Bindi Sue And Robert who’ll despair, For Terri who has lost the man With […]...
25. Cirque D'Hiver Across the floor flits the mechanical toy, Fit for a king of several centuries back. A little circus horse with real white hair. His eyes are glossy black. He bears a little dancer on his back. She stands upon her toes and turns and turns. A slanting spray of artificial roses Is stitched across her […]...
26. Poetics I look for the way Things will turn Out spiralling from a center, The shape Things will take to come forth in So that the birch tree white Touched black at branches Will stand out Wind-glittering Totally its apparent self: I look for the forms Things want to come as From what black wells of […]...
27. Portrait She has no need to fear the fall Of harvest from the laddered reach Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing From the steep beach. Nor hold to pain’s effrontery Her body’s bulwark, stern and savage, Nor be a glass, where to forsee Another’s ravage. What she has gathered, and what lost, She will not […]...
28. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
29. Christ's Nativity 1 Awake, glad heart! get up and sing! 2 It is the birth-day of thy King. 3 Awake! awake! 4 The Sun doth shake 5 Light from his locks, and all the way 6 Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day. 7 Awake, awake! hark how th’ wood rings; 8 Winds whisper, and the busy springs […]...
30. Sonnet XVI: Who Shall Invoke Her Who shall invoke her, who shall be her priest, With single rites the common debt to pay? On some green headland fronting to the East Our fairest boy shall kneel at break of day. Naked, uplifting in a laden tray New milk and honey and sweet-tinctured wine, Not without twigs of clustering apple-spray To wreath […]...
31. A Sleepless Night April, and the last of the plum blossoms Scatters on the black grass Before dawn. The sycamore, the lime, The struck pine inhale The first pale hints of sky. An iron day, I think, yet it will come Dazzling, the light Rise from the belly of leaves and pour Burning from the cups Of poppies. […]...
32. More than the Grave is closed to me More than the Grave is closed to me The Grave and that Eternity To which the Grave adheres I cling to nowhere till I fall The Crash of nothing, yet of all How similar appears...
33. I bring an unaccustomed wine I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink; Crackling with fever, they Essay, I turn my brimming eyes away, And come next hour to look. The hands still hug the tardy glass The lips I would have cooled, alas Are so superfluous Cold I would as […]...
34. An Embroidery Rose Red’s hair is brown as fur And shines in firelight as she prepares Supper of honey and apples, curds and whey, For the bear, and leaves it ready On the hearth-stone. Rose White’s grey eyes Look into the dark forest. Rose Red’s cheeks are burning, Sign of her ardent, joyful Compassionate heart. Rose White […]...
35. The Rose Family The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s The plum, I suppose. The dear only know What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose But were always a rose....
36. The Three Bushes An incident from the ‘Historia mei Temporis’ Of the Abbe Michel de Bourdeille Said lady once to lover, ‘None can rely upon A love that lacks its proper food; And if your love were gone How could you sing those songs of love? I should be blamed, young man. O my dear, O my dear. […]...
37. The Crowd At The Ball Game The crowd at the ball game Is moved uniformly By a spirit of uselessness Which delights them – All the exciting detail Of the chase And the escape, the error The flash of genius – All to no end save beauty The eternal – So in detail they, the crowd, Are beautiful For this To […]...
38. One Way Of Love All June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die? The chance was they might take her eye. II. How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers […]...
39. The Color of the Grave is Green The Color of the Grave is Green The Outer Grave I mean You would not know it from the Field Except it own a Stone To help the fond to find it Too infinite asleep To stop and tell them where it is But just a Daisy deep The Color of the Grave is white […]...
40. What shall I do when the Summer troubles What shall I do when the Summer troubles What, when the Rose is ripe What when the Eggs fly off in Music From the Maple Keep? What shall I do when the Skies a’chirrup Drop a Tune on me When the Bee hangs all Noon in the Buttercup What will become of me? Oh, when […]...