Besides the Autumn poets sing

Related poetry:

1. May and the Poets There is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior, May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; May’s in all the Italian books: She has old and modern nooks, Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves, In happy places they call shelves, And will rise and dress your rooms […]...
2. The Martyr Poets did not tell The Martyr Poets did not tell But wrought their Pang in syllable That when their mortal name be numb Their mortal fate encourage Some The Martyr Painters never spoke Bequeathing rather to their Work That when their conscious fingers cease Some seek in Art the Art of Peace...
3. I Sing the Body Electric 1 I SING the Body electric; The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them; They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul. Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies […]...
4. AUTUMN FEELINGS FLOURISH greener, as ye clamber, Oh ye leaves, to seek my chamber, Up the trellis’d vine on high! May ye swell, twin-berries tender, Juicier far, and with more splendour Ripen, and more speedily! O’er ye broods the sun at even As he sinks to rest, and heaven Softly breathes into your ear All its fertilising […]...
5. Sing Sing Music Was Given Sing sing Music was given To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; Souls here, like planets in heaven, By harmony’s laws alone are kept moving. Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, But Love from the lips his true archery wings; And she, who but feathers the dart when she speaks, At […]...
6. Ode To Autumn Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With […]...
7. To Autumn I Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells […]...
8. Sonnet 39: O, how thy worth with manners may I sing O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is’t but mine own when I praise thee? Even for this let us divided live, And our dear love lose name of single one, That […]...
9. Sing To Me Sing to me! Something of sunlight and bloom, I am so compassed with sorrow and gloom, I am so sick with the world’s noisse and strife, – Sing of the beauty and brightness of life – Sing to me, sing to me! Sing to me! Something that’s jubilant, glad! I am so weary, my soul […]...
10. Pejar Creek Deep in the meadow grass Easy stand the cattle, Lightly lock the young bulls In a mimic battle, Pride gathers with each shock, Every break and rally – That’s where the Pejar runs, Runs like a slip of silver through the valley. Softly as a thrush sings In the morning hushes, Softly sing the waters […]...
11. Have you got a Brook in your little heart Have you got a Brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so And nobody knows, so still it flows, That any brook is there, And yet your little draught of life Is daily drunken there Why, look out for the little brook in […]...
12. The Sea said "Come" to the Brook The Sea said “Come” to the Brook The Brook said “Let me grow” The Sea said “Then you will be a Sea I want a Brook Come now”! The Sea said “Go” to the Sea The Sea said “I am he You cherished” “Learned Waters Wisdom is stale to Me”...
13. Autumn I Saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;- Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn. Where […]...
14. Bluenote Time in the soft jazz and midnight hour Your eyes are dancing close to mine A sway of hips, a touch of lips While on the stand Piano player’s fingers Dance around the tune Above a gentle touch Caressing music from the bass Your fingers up and down my spine In the soft jazz and midnight […]...
15. A Wife at daybreak I shall be A Wife at daybreak I shall be Sunrise Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Bride Then Midnight, I have passed from thee Unto the East, and Victory Midnight Good Night! I hear them call, The Angels bustle in the Hall Softly […]...
16. Autumn Whoever has no house now will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening And wander on the boulevards, up and down… – from Autumn Day, Rainer Maria Rilke Its stain is everywhere. The sharpening air Of late afternoon Is now the colour of tea. […]...
17. The Poets light but Lamps The Poets light but Lamps Themselves go out The Wicks they stimulate If vital Light Inhere as do the Suns Each Age a Lens Disseminating their Circumference...
18. Autumn Perspective Now, moving in, cartons on the floor, The radio playing to bare walls, Picture hooks left stranded In the unsoiled squares where paintings were, And something reminding us This is like all other moving days; Finding the dirty ends of someone else’s life, Hair fallen in the sink, a peach pit, And burned-out matches in […]...
19. Sing of the Banner at Day-Break POET. O A NEW song, a free song, Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer, By the wind’s voice and that of the drum, By the banner’s voice, and child’s voice, and sea’s voice, and father’s voice, Low on the ground and high in the air, On the ground where father and child […]...
20. When it was autumn in Eden When it was autumn in Eden And chestnuts held golden leaves Against dimming light, Eve touched her toes on the sodden Soil – ran fingers through harvest sheaves – feeling all things were right : And hip and haw turned red – the sloe to dusk And swallows gathered in flocks with waitful wings. Then […]...
21. Old Poets (For Robert Cortez Holliday) If I should live in a forest And sleep underneath a tree, No grove of impudent saplings Would make a home for me. I’d go where the old oaks gather, Serene and good and strong, And they would not sigh and tremble And vex me with a song. The pleasantest sort […]...
22. I sing to use the Waiting I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I Till His best step approaching We journey to the Day And tell each other how We sung To Keep the Dark away....
23. To hear an Oriole sing To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird Who sings the same, unheard, As unto Crowd The Fashion of the Ear Attireth that it hear In Dun, or fair So whether it be Rune, Or whether it be none Is of within. The […]...
24. The Bird must sing to earn the Crumb The Bird must sing to earn the Crumb What merit have the Tune No Breakfast if it guaranty The Rose content may bloom To gain renown of Lady’s Drawer But if the Lady come But once a Century, the Rose Superfluous become...
25. How dare the robins sing How dare the robins sing, When men and women hear Who since they went to their account Have settled with the year! Paid all that life had earned In one consummate bill, And now, what life or death can do Is immaterial. Insulting is the sun To him whose mortal light Beguiled of immortality Bequeaths […]...
26. Fairy Song The moonlight fades from flower and rose And the stars dim one by one; The tale is told, the song is sung, And the Fairy feast is done. The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers, And sings to them, soft and low. The early birds erelong will wake: ‘T is time for the Elves to go. […]...
27. Because my Brook is fluent Because my Brook is fluent I know ’tis dry Because my Brook is silent It is the Sea And startled at its rising I try to flee To where the Strong assure me Is “no more Sea”...
28. 'Twas warm at first like Us ‘Twas warm at first like Us Until there crept upon A Chill like frost upon a Glass Till all the scene be gone. The Forehead copied Stone The Fingers grew too cold To ache and like a Skater’s Brook The busy eyes congealed It straightened that was all It crowded Cold to Cold It multiplied […]...
29. Nightmare: A Tale for an Autumn Evening After a Print by George Cruikshank It was a gusty night, With the wind booming, and swooping, Looping round corners, Sliding over the cobble-stones, Whipping and veering, And careering over the roofs Like a thousand clattering horses. Mr. Spruggins had been dining in the city, Mr. Spruggins was none too steady in his gait, And […]...
30. By my Window have I for Scenery By my Window have I for Scenery Just a Sea with a Stem If the Bird and the Farmer deem it a “Pine” The Opinion will serve for them It has no Port, nor a “Line” but the Jays That split their route to the Sky Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula May be easier […]...
31. Autumn Day Four Translations Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials And let loose the wind in the fields. Bid the last fruits to be full; Give them another two more southerly days, Press them to ripeness, and chase The last sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house […]...
32. Poets Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine. Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod. They shall not live who have […]...
33. To Certain Poets Now is the rhymer’s honest trade A thing for scornful laughter made. The merchant’s sneer, the clerk’s disdain, These are the burden of our pain. Because of you did this befall, You brought this shame upon us all. You little poets mincing there With women’s hearts and women’s hair! How sick Dan Chaucer’s ghost must […]...
34. Fable The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter, “little prig”: Bun replied, You are doubtless very big, But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year, And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I’m […]...
35. Lately our poets Lately our poets loiter’d in green lanes, Content to catch the ballads of the plains; I fancied I had strength enough to climb A loftier station at no distant time, And might securely from intrusion doze Upon the flowers thro’ which Ilissus flows. In those pale olive grounds all voices cease, And from afar dust […]...
36. Going to Him! Happy letter! Going to Him! Happy letter! Tell Him Tell Him the page I didn’t write Tell Him I only said the Syntax And left the Verb and the pronoun out Tell Him just how the fingers hurried Then how they waded slow slow And then you wished you had eyes in your pages So you could […]...
37. Poets to Come POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for; But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse! Arouse-for you must justify me-you must answer. I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, I but advance […]...
38. The Poets O ye dead Poets, who are living still Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, And ye, O living Poets, who are dead Though ye are living, if neglect can kill, Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, With drops of anguish falling fast and red From the sharp crown of thorns […]...
39. The brook I looked in the brook and saw a face – Heigh-ho, but a child was I! There were rushes and willows in that place, And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; And the brook it ran its own sweet way, As a child doth run in heedless play, And as it […]...
40. London Poets (In Memoriam.) They trod the streets and squares where now I tread, With weary hearts, a little while ago; When, thin and grey, the melancholy snow Clung to the leafless branches overhead; Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew stormy-red In autumn; with a re-arisen woe Wrestled, what time the passionate spring winds blow; And paced […]...