Of all the Sounds despatched abroad

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1. 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 […]...
2. The Street Sounds to the Soldiers' Tread The street sounds to the soldiers’ tread, And out we troop to see: A single redcoat turns his head, He turns and looks at me. My man, from sky to sky’s so far, We never crossed before; Such leagues apart the world’s ends are, We’re like to meet no more; What thoughts at heart have […]...
3. There Are Sounds of Mirth There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing, And lamps from every casement shown; While voices blithe within are singing, That seem to say “Come,” in every tone. Ah! once how light, in Life’s young season, My heart had leap’d at that sweet lay; Nor paused to ask of greybeard Reason Should I the […]...
4. To Be Blind Is it sounds converging, Sounds nearing, Infringement, impingement, Impact, contact With surfaces of the sounds Or surfaces without the sounds: Diagrams, skeletal, strange? Is it winds curling round invisible corners? Polyphony of perfumes? Antennae discovering an axis, erecting the architecture of a world? Is it orchestration of the finger-tips, graph of a fugue: Scaffold for […]...
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. Bereaved of all, I went abroad Bereaved of all, I went abroad No less bereaved was I Upon a New Peninsula The Grave preceded me Obtained my Lodgings, ere myself And when I sought my Bed The Grave it was reposed upon The Pillow for my Head I waked to find it first awake I rose It followed me I tried […]...
7. 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 […]...
8. Me come! My dazzled face Me come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me hear! My foreign Ear The sounds of Welcome there! The Saints forget Our bashful feet My Holiday, shall be That They remember me My Paradise the fame That They pronounce my name...
9. I held a Jewel in my fingers I held a Jewel in my fingers And went to sleep The day was warm, and winds were prosy I said “‘Twill keep” I woke and chid my honest fingers, The Gem was gone And now, an Amethyst remembrance Is all I own...
10. The Shadowy Waters: The Harp of Aengus Edain came out of Midhir’s hill, and lay Beside young Aengus in his tower of glass, Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs, And sleepy boughs, and boughs where apples made Of opal and ruhy and pale chrysolite Awake unsleeping fires; and wove seven strings, Sweet with all […]...
11. Dedication To A Book Of Stories Selected From The Irish Novelists There was a green branch hung with many a bell When her own people ruled this tragic Eire; And from its murmuring greenness, calm of Faery, A Druid kindness, on all hearers fell. It charmed away the merchant from his guile, And turned the farmer’s memory from his cattle, And hushed in sleep the roaring […]...
12. 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 […]...
13. Conscious am I in my Chamber Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend He doth not attest by Posture Nor Confirm by Word Neither Place need I present Him Fitter Courtesy Hospitable intuition Of His Company Presence is His furthest license Neither He to Me Nor Myself to Him by Accent Forfeit Probity Weariness of Him, were quainter […]...
14. The Withering Of The Boughs I cried when the moon was mutmuring to the birds: ‘Let peewit call and curlew cry where they will, I long for your merry and tender and pitiful words, For the roads are unending, and there is no place to my mind.’ The honey-pale moon lay low on the sleepy hill, And I fell asleep […]...
15. The lonesome for they know not What The lonesome for they know not What The Eastern Exiles be Who strayed beyond the Amber line Some madder Holiday And ever since the purple Moat They strive to climb in vain As Birds that tumble from the clouds Do fumble at the strain The Blessed Ether taught them Some Transatlantic Morn When Heaven was […]...
16. In Lovers' Lane I know a place for loitering feet Deep in the valley where the breeze Makes melody in lichened boughs, And murmurs low love-litanies. There slender harebells nod and dream, And pale wild roses offer up The fragrance of their golden hearts, As from some incense-brimméd cup. It holds the sunshine sifted down Softly through many […]...
17. Rain Along Shore Wan white mists upon the sea, East wind harping mournfully All the sunken reefs along, Wail and heart-break in its song, But adown the placid bay Fisher-folk keep holiday. All the deeps beyond the bar Call and murmur from afar, ‘Plaining of a mighty woe Where the great ships come and go, But adown the […]...
18. North Country North Country, filled with gesturing wood, With trees that fence, like archers’ volleys, The flanks of hidden valleys Where nothing’s left to hide But verticals and perpendiculars, Like rain gone wooden, fixed in falling, Or fingers blindly feeling For what nobody cares; Or trunks of pewter, bangled by greedy death, Stuck with black staghorns, quietly […]...
19. The Night is Darkening Around Me The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow ; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow ; The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below […]...
20. I am ashamed I hide I am ashamed I hide What right have I to be a Bride So late a Dowerless Girl Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face No one to teach me that new Grace Nor introduce my Soul Me to adorn How tell Trinket to make Me beautiful Fabrics of Cashmere Never a Gown of Dun more […]...
21. To the seaside to the seaside To the seaside To the change and peace of mind To the easy la- Zy holiday The leave-it-all-behind To the seaside To the sunshine To the body-littered sands To the deckchairs And the funfairs And the burst-your-ears brass bands To the ice-cream To the wasp-stings To the sand-in-every-meal To the castles And […]...
22. The Old Lowe House, Staten Island Another prospect pleased the builder’s eye, And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes) Here in the sorrowful suburban lanes When first these gables rose against the sky. Relic of a romantic taste gone by, This stately monument alone remains, Vacant, with lichened walls and window-panes Blank as the windows of a skull. But I, On evenings […]...
23. Hut Among the Bamboos Sitting alone In the hush of the bamboo grove I thrum my lute And whistle lingering notes. In the secrecy of the wood No one can hear Only the clear moon Comes to shine on me....
24. I Years had been from Home I Years had been from Home And now before the Door I dared not enter, lest a Face I never saw before Stare solid into mine And ask my Business there “My Business but a Life I left Was such remaining there?” I leaned upon the Awe I lingered with Before The Second like an […]...
25. Birds Of Passage Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky; And from the realms Of the shadowy elms A tide-like darkness overwhelm The fields that round us lie. But the night is fair, And everywhere A warm, soft vapor fills the air, And distant sounds seem near; And […]...
26. 'Tis not that Dying hurts us so ‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so ‘Tis Living hurts us more But Dying is a different way A Kind behind the Door The Southern Custom of the Bird That ere the Frosts are due Accepts a better Latitude We are the Birds that stay. The Shrivers round Farmers’ doors For whose reluctant Crumb We […]...
27. Sonnet 13 – And wilt thou have me fashion into speech And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee, finding words enough, And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough, Between our faces, to cast light on each?- I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirit so far off From myself-me-that I […]...
28. Honey At The Table It fills you with the soft Essence of vanished flowers, it becomes A trickle sharp as a hair that you follow From the honey pot over the table And out the door and over the ground, And all the while it thickens, Grows deeper and wilder, edged With pine boughs and wet boulders, Pawprints of […]...
29. Acrostic Little maidens, when you look On this little story-book, Reading with attentive eye Its enticing history, Never think that hours of play Are your only HOLIDAY, And that in a HOUSE of joy Lessons serve but to annoy: If in any HOUSE you find Children of a gentle mind, Each the others pleasing ever Each […]...
30. In the Highlands IN the highlands, in the country places, Where the old plain men have rosy faces, And the young fair maidens Quiet eyes; Where essential silence cheers and blesses, And for ever in the hill-recesses Her more lovely music Broods and dies O to mount again where erst I haunted; Where the old red hills are […]...
31. Your Dad Did What? Where they have been, if they have been away, Or what they’ve done at home, if they have not – You make them write about the holiday. One writes My Dad did. What? Your Dad did what? That’s not a sentence. Never mind the bell. We stay behind until the work is done. You count […]...
32. Sonnet 128: How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st, Upon that blessèd wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway’st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, […]...
33. Sonnet CXXVIII How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, […]...
34. Never Again Would Bird's Song Be The Same He would declare and could himself believe That the birds there in all the garden round From having heard the daylong voice of Eve Had added to their own an oversound, Her tone of meaning but without the words. Admittedly an eloquence so soft Could only have had an influence on birds When call or […]...
35. My nosegays are for Captives My nosegays are for Captives Dim expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till Paradise. To such, if they should whisper Of morning and the moor, They bear no other errand, And I, no other prayer....
36. Precious to Me She still shall be Precious to Me She still shall be Though She forget the name I bear The fashion of the Gown I wear The very Color of My Hair So like the Meadows now I dared to show a Tress of Theirs If haply She might not despise A Buttercup’s Array I know the Whole obscures the […]...
37. June Sick Room The birds’ shrill fluting Beats on the pink blind, Pierces the pink blind At whose edge fumble the sun’s Fingers till one obtrudes And stirs the thick motes. The room is a close box of pink warmth. The minutes click. A man picks across the street With a metal-pointed stick. Three clocks drop each twelve […]...
38. Woods in Winter When winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O’er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The […]...
39. Go Plant a Tree God, what a joy it is to plant a tree, And from the sallow earth to watch it rise, Lifting its emerald branches to the skies In silent adoration; and to see Its strength and glory waxing with each spring. Yes, ’tis a goodly, and a gladsome thing To plant a tree. Nature has many […]...
40. Talk not to me of Summer Trees Talk not to me of Summer Trees The foliage of the mind A Tabernacle is for Birds Of no corporeal kind And winds do go that way at noon To their Ethereal Homes Whose Bugles call the least of us To undepicted Realms...