Dear Colette

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1. 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 […]...
2. Dear Heart, Why Will You Use Me So? Dear heart, why will you use me so? Dear eyes that gently me upbraid, Still are you beautiful – but O, How is your beauty raimented! Through the clear mirror of your eyes, Through the soft sigh of kiss to kiss, Desolate winds assail with cries The shadowy garden where love is. And soon shall […]...
3. Fear Not, Dear Friend, But Freely Live Your Days FEAR not, dear friend, but freely live your days Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am I, A lesser life, that what is his of sky Gladly would give for you, and what of praise. Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways. We that have touched your raiment, are made whole From all the selfish […]...
4. 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 […]...
5. 554. Song-A Health to ane I loe dear Chorus-Here’s a health to ane I loe dear, Here’s a health to ane I loe dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear-Jessy. ALTHO’ thou maun never be mine, Altho’ even hope is denied; ‘Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than ought in the world beside-Jessy. Here’s […]...
6. Sonnet XXXVII: Dear, Why Should You Dear, why should you command me to my rest When now the night doth summon all to sleep? Methinks this time becometh lovers best; Night was ordain’d, together friends to keep; How happy are all other living things Which through the day disjoin by sev’ral flight, The quiet ev’ning yet together brings, And each returns […]...
7. Little-oh dear See, what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear! Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown – Search ye the country and hunt ye the town And never ye’ll meet with a garden so queer As this one I’ve made for my Little-Oh-Dear! Marigolds white and buttercups blue, Lilies all […]...
8. Writing often it is the only Thing Between you and Impossibility. No drink, No woman’s love, No wealth Can Match it. Nothing can save You Except Writing. It keeps the walls From Failing. The hordes from Closing in. It blasts the Darkness. Writing is the Ultimate Psychiatrist, The kindliest God of all the Gods. Writing stalks […]...
9. Idea XXXVII: Dear, why should you command me to my rest Dear, why should you command me to my rest When now the night doth summon all to sleep? Methinks this time becometh lovers best; Night was ordain’d together friends to keep. How happy are all other living things Which, though the day disjoin by sev’ral flight, The quiet ev’ning yet together brings, And each returns […]...
10. In My Solitary Hours in My Dear Husband his Absence O Lord, Thou hear’st my daily moan And see’st my dropping tears. My troubles all are Thee before, My longings and my fears. Thou hitherto hast been my God; Thy help my soul hath found. Though loss and sickness me assailed, Through Thee I’ve kept my ground. And Thy abode Thou’st made with me; With […]...
11. The Witch's Life When I was a child There was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she peered from her second story Window From behind the wrinkled curtains And sometimes she would open the window And yell: Get out of my life! She had hair like kelp And a voice like […]...
12. Holy Sonnet XVIII: Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear. What! is it She, which on the other shore Goes richly painted? or which, robbed and tore, Laments and mourns in Germany and here? Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year? Is she self-truth and errs? now new, now outwore? Doth she, and […]...
13. Upon My Dear and Loving Husband his Going into England Jan. 16 O thou Most High who rulest all And hear’st the prayers of thine, O hearken, Lord, unto my suit And my petition sign. Into Thy everlasting arms Of mercy I commend Thy servant, Lord. Keep and preserve My husband, My dear friend. At Thy command, O Lord, he went, Nor nought could keep him back. […]...
14. The Wicked Postman Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, Mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all Wet, and you don’t mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother To come home from school. What has happened […]...
15. At Bay Wife Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast. Tell me there are no memories of your past That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast. Husband Some truths are cheapened when too oft averred. Does not the deed speak louder than the word? (dear God, that old dream woke again […]...
16. 484. Song-Saw you my dear, my Philly O SAW ye my Dear, my Philly? O saw ye my Dear, my Philly, She’s down i’ the grove, she’s wi’ a new Love, She winna come hame to her Willy. What says she my dear, my Philly? What says she my dear, my Philly? She lets thee to wit she has thee forgot, And […]...
17. Sonnet 124: If my dear love were but the child of state If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfathered, As subject to Time’s love or to Time’s hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, […]...
18. My Dear Mistress Has a Heart My dear mistress has a heart Soft as those kind looks she gave me, When with love’s resistless art, And her eyes, she did enslave me; But her constancy’s so weak, She’s so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder. Melting joys about her move, […]...
19. Modern Love XXV: You Like Not That French Novel You like not that French novel? Tell me why. You think it quite unnatural. Let us see. The actors are, it seems, the usual three: Husband, and wife, and lover. She but fie! In England we’ll not hear of it. Edmond, The lover, her devout chagrin doth share; Blanc-mange and absinthe are his penitent fare, […]...
20. On that dear Frame the Years had worn On that dear Frame the Years had worn Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Light The Witnessing, to Us Precious! It was conceiveless fair As Hands the Grave had grimed Should softly place within our own Denying that they died....
21. To my dear Sister, Mrs. C. P. on her Nuptial We will not like those men our offerings pay Who crown the cup, then think they crown the day. We make no garlands, nor an altar build, Which help not Joy, but Ostentation yield. Where mirth is justly grounded these wild toyes Are but a troublesome, and empty noise. 2. But these shall be my […]...
22. Where It Was At Back Then Husband, Last night I dreamt They cut off your hands and feet. Husband, You whispered to me, Now we are both incomplete. Husband, I held all four In my arms like sons and daughters. Husband, I bent slowly down And washed them in magical waters. Husband, I placed each one Where it belonged on you. […]...
23. Dear Friends Dear Friends, reproach me not for what I do, Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say That I am wearing half my life away For bubble-work that only fools pursue. And if my bubbles be too small for you, Blow bigger then your own: the games we play To fill the frittered minutes of […]...
24. To know just how He suffered would be dear To know just how He suffered would be dear To know if any Human eyes were near To whom He could entrust His wavering gaze Until it settle broad on Paradise To know if He was patient part content Was Dying as He thought or different Was it a pleasant Day to die And did […]...
25. A Poet To His Beloved I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams, White woman that passion has worn As the tide wears the dove-grey sands, And with heart more old than the horn That is brimmed from the pale fire of time: White woman with numberless dreams, I bring you my passionate rhyme....
26. Dear March Come in Dear March Come in How glad I am I hoped for you before Put down your Hat You must have walked How out of Breath you are Dear March, Come right up the stairs with me I have so much to tell I got your Letter, and the Birds The Maples never knew that you […]...
27. Oh It is snowing and death bugs me As stubborn as insomnia. The fierce bubbles of chalk, The little white lesions Settle on the street outside. It is snowing and the ninety Year old woman who was combing Out her long white wraith hair Is gone, embalmed even now, Even tonight her arms are smooth Muskets […]...
28. Sonnet 142: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, Or if it do, not from those lips of thine That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And sealed false bonds of […]...
29. Well I Remember How You Smiled Well I remember how you smiled To see me write your name upon The soft sea-sand. . . “O! what a child! You think you’re writing upon stone!” I have since written what no tide Shall ever wash away, what men Unborn shall read o’er ocean wide And find Ianthe’s name again....
30. Letter Home New Orleans, November 1910 Four weeks have passed since I left, and still I must write to you of no work. I’ve worn down The soles and walked through the tightness Of my new shoes calling upon the merchants, Their offices bustling. All the while I kept thinking My plain English and good writing would […]...
31. An Almost Made Up Poem I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny Blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny They are small, and the fountain is in France Where you wrote me that last letter and I answered and never heard from you again. You used to write insane poems about ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper […]...
32. Nay, Tell Me Not, Dear Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns One charm of feeling, one fond regret; Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns Are all I’ve sunk in its bright wave yet. Ne’er hath a beam Been lost in the stream That ever was shed from thy form or soul; The spell of those […]...
33. Complaint They call me and I go. It is a frozen road Past midnight, a dust Of snow caught In the rigid wheeltracks. The door opens. I smile, enter and Shake off the cold. Here is a great woman On her side in the bed. She is sick, Perhaps vomiting, Perhaps laboring To give birth to […]...
34. Sonnet XVII: His Mother Dear Cupid His mother dear Cupid offended late, Because that Mars grown slacker in her love, With pricking shot he did not throughly more To keep the pace of their first loving state. The boy refus’d for fear of Mars’s hate, Who threaten’d stripes, if he his wrath did prove: But she in chafe him from her […]...
35. 275. Song-The Laddie's dear sel&#039 THERE’S a youth in this city, it were a great pity That he from our lassies should wander awa’; For he’s bonie and braw, weel-favor’d witha’, An’ his hair has a natural buckle an’ a’. His coat is the hue o’ his bonnet sae blue, His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose […]...
36. Dear Harp of my Country Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of Silence had hung o’er thee long. When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song. The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness Have waken’d thy fondest, thy […]...
37. 4:02 p. m poem supposed to be about One minute and the lives of three women in it Writing it and up The block a woman killed By her husband Poem now about one minute And the lives of four women In it Haitian mother She walks through Town carrying her son’s Head-banging it against Her thigh calling […]...
38. Be Angry At San Pedro I say to my woman, “Jeffers was A great poet. think of a title Like Be Angry At The Sun. don’t you Realize how great that is? “you like that negative stuff.” she Says “positively,” I agree, finishing my Drink and pouring another. “in one of Jeffers’ poems, not the sun poem, This woman fucks […]...
39. Not To Keep They sent him back to her. The letter came Saying… And she could have him. And before She could be sure there was no hidden ill Under the formal writing, he was in her sight, Living. They gave him back to her alive How else? They are not known to send the dead And not […]...
40. Fool's Money Bags Outside the long window, With his head on the stone sill, The dog is lying, Gazing at his Beloved. His eyes are wet and urgent, And his body is taut and shaking. It is cold on the terrace; A pale wind licks along the stone slabs, But the dog gazes through the glass And is […]...