Distrustful of the Gentian

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1. To the Fringed Gentian Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven’s own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com’st alone, When […]...
2. The Queen of Bubbles [Written for a picture] The Youth speaks: -: “Why do you seek the sun In your bubble-crown ascending? Your chariot will melt to mist. Your crown will have an ending.” The Goddess replies: – : “Nay, sun is but a bubble, Earth is a whiff of foam – To my caves on the coast of […]...
3. Tцrnfallet There is a meadow in Sweden Where I lie smitten, Eyes stained with clouds’ White ins and outs. And about that meadow Roams my widow Plaiting a clover Wreath for her lover. I took her in marriage In a granite parish. The snow lent her whiteness, A pine was a witness. She’d swim in the […]...
4. The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop upon a Spot As if it tarried always And yet its whole Career Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay And fleeter than a Tare ‘Tis Vegetation’s Juggler The Germ of Alibi Doth like a Bubble […]...
5. The Gentian weaves her fringes The Gentian weaves her fringes The Maple’s loom is red My departing blossoms Obviate parade. A brief, but patient illness An hour to prepare, And one below this morning Is where the angels are It was a short procession, The Bobolink was there An aged Bee addressed us And then we knelt in prayer We […]...
6. The Gentian has a parched Corolla The Gentian has a parched Corolla Like azure dried ‘Tis Nature’s buoyant juices Beatified Without a vaunt or sheen As casual as Rain And as benign When most is part it comes Nor isolate it seems Its Bond its Friend To fill its Fringed career And aid an aged Year Abundant end Its lot were […]...
7. God made a little Gentian God made a little Gentian It tried to be a Rose And failed and all the Summer laughed But just before the Snows There rose a Purple Creature That ravished all the Hill And Summer hid her Forehead And Mockery was still The Frosts were her condition The Tyrian would not come Until the North […]...
8. Attraction The meadow and the mountain with desire Gazed on each other, till a fierce unrest Surged ‘neath the meadow’s seemingly calm breast, And all the mountain’s fissures ran with fire. A mighty river rolled between them there. What could the mountain do but gaze and burn? What could the meadow do but look and yearn, […]...
9. As Watchers hang upon the East As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread As brooks in deserts babble sweet On ear too far for the delight, Heaven beguiles the tired. As that same watcher, when the East Opens the lid of Amethyst And lets the morning go That Beggar, when an honored […]...
10. The Argument Of His Book I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by […]...
11. Some Like Poetry Write it. Write. In ordinary ink On ordinary paper: they were given no food, They all died of hunger. “All. How many? It’s a big meadow. How much grass For each one?” Write: I don’t know. History counts its skeletons in round numbers. A thousand and one remains a thousand, As though the one had […]...
12. Kill your Balm and its Odors bless you Kill your Balm and its Odors bless you Bare your Jessamine to the storm And she will fling her maddest perfume Haply your Summer night to Charm Stab the Bird that built in your bosom Oh, could you catch her last Refrain Bubble! “forgive” “Some better” Bubble! “Carol for Him when I am gone”!...
13. Closed Gentian Distances A nothing day full of Wild beauty and the Timer pings. Roll up The silver off the bay Take down the clouds Sort the spruce and Send to laundry marked, More starch. Goodbye Golden – and silver- Rod, asters, bayberry Crisp in elegance. Little fish stream By, a river in water....
14. As I Ponder'd in Silence 1 AS I ponder’d in silence, Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long, A Phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect, Terrible in beauty, age, and power, The genius of poets of old lands, As to me directing like flame its eyes, With finger pointing to many immortal songs, And menacing voice, What singest thou? […]...
15. Star Teachers EVEN as a bird sprays many-coloured fires, The plumes of paradise, the dying light Rays through the fevered air in misty spires That vanish in the heights. These myriad eyes that look on me are mine; Wandering beneath them I have found again The ancient ample moment, the divine, The God-root within men. For this, […]...
16. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the […]...
17. Take Back the Virgin Page Written on Returning a Blank Book Take back the virgin page, White and unwritten still; Some hand, more calm and sage, The leaf must fill. Thoughts come, as pure as light Pure as even you require; But, oh! each word I write Love turns to fire. Yet let me keep the book: Oft shall my […]...
18. Sonnet 17: Who will believe my verse in time to come Who will believe my verse in time to come If it were filled with your most high deserts? Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts: If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, […]...
19. Sonnet XVII Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill’d with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, […]...
20. A Poet at Twenty Images leap with him from branch to branch. His eyes Brighten, his head cocks, he pauses under a green bough, Alert. And when I see him I want to hide him somewhere. The other wood is past the hill. But he will enter it, and find the particular maple. He will walk through the door […]...
21. The Breast This is the key to it. This is the key to everything. Preciously. I am worse than the gamekeeper’s children Picking for dust and bread. Here I am drumming up perfume. Let me go down on your carpet, Your straw mattress whatever’s at hand Because the child in me is dying, dying. It is not […]...
22. Helen of Tyre What phantom is this that appears Through the purple mist of the years, Itself but a mist like these? A woman of cloud and of fire; It is she; it is Helen of Tyre, The town in the midst of the seas. O Tyre! in thy crowded streets The phantom appears and retreats, And the […]...
23. What the Bee Is To the Floweret What the bee is to the floweret, When he looks for honey-dew, Through the leaves that close embower it, That, my love, I’ll be to you. She. What the bank, with verdure glowing, Is to waves that wander near, Whispering kisses, while they’re going, That I’ll be to you, my dear. She. But they say, […]...
24. Upon Concluded Lives Upon Concluded Lives There’s nothing cooler falls Than Life’s sweet Calculations The mixing Bells and Palls Make Lacerating Tune To Ears the Dying Side ‘Tis Coronal and Funeral Saluting in the Road...
25. 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 […]...
26. If this is "fading&quot If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red! If this is “sleep,” On such a night How proud to shut the eye! Good Evening, gentle Fellow men! Peacock presumes to die!...
27. An Evening in the Mountains After rain the empty mountain Stands autumnal in the evening, Moonlight in its groves of pine, Stones of crystal in its brooks. Bamboos whisper of washer-girls bound home, Lotus-leaves yield before a fisher-boat And what does it matter that springtime has gone, While you are here, O Prince of Friends?...
28. I did not reach Thee I did not reach Thee But my feet slip nearer every day Three Rivers and a Hill to cross One Desert and a Sea I shall not count the journey one When I am telling thee. Two deserts, but the Year is cold So that will help the sand One desert crossed The second one […]...
29. Tz'u No. 17 (He Is Gone) To the tune of “Wu Ling Spring” Wind ceased, the dust is scented With the fallen flowers. Though day is getting late, I am too weary To attend to my hair. Things remain as ever, yet he is here no more, And all is finished. Fain would I speak, but tears flow first. They say […]...
30. The Doomed regard the Sunrise The Doomed regard the Sunrise With different Delight Because when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it The Man to die tomorrow Harks for the Meadow Bird Because its Music stirs the Axe That clamors for his head Joyful to whom the Sunrise Precedes Enamored Day Joyful for whom the Meadow Bird Has […]...
31. Pirate Story Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea. Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. Where shall we adventure, to-day that we’re afloat, Wary of the […]...
32. My Earlier Life I’ve been home a long time among the vast porticos, Which the mariner sun has tinged with a million fires, Whose grandest pillars, upright, majestic and cold Render them the same, this evening, as caves with basalt spires. The swells’ overwhelming accords of rich music, Heaving images of heaven to the skies, Mingle in a […]...
33. Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...
34. Golden Days Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain To make of as I may, That done, I shall not see again Until the Judgment Day. Ah, could I, could I backward turn The pages of that […]...
35. Margaritae Sorori A LATE lark twitters from the quiet skies: And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace. The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine and are changed. In the valley Shadows […]...
36. The Princess: A Medley: Tears, Idle Tears Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up […]...
37. Tears, Idle Tears Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up […]...
38. She hideth Her the last She hideth Her the last And is the first, to rise Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes She doth Her Purple Work And putteth Her away In low Apartments in the Sod – As worthily as We. To imitate her life As impotent would be As make of Our imperfect Mints, […]...
39. An Opera House Within the gold square of the proscenium arch, A curtain of orange velvet hangs in stiff folds, Its tassels jarring slightly when someone crosses the stage behind. Gold carving edges the balconies, Rims the boxes, Runs up and down fluted pillars. Little knife-stabs of gold Shine out whenever a box door is opened. Gold clusters […]...
40. Spires of the fireweed Spires of the fireweed on the fretted sky – Tints of magenta on tranquility, Do you feel nurture for the life within, The burst of bloom that yields your progeny. Do you have sense of flowering’s fleeting glow, Bearing its part in continuity To charge the seed and rip its casing wall And float its […]...