The dead babe

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1. The Hawk and the Babe [Dedicated to Raymond Radclyffe] I am that hawk of gold Proud in adamantine poise On the pillars of torqoise, See, beyond the starry fold, Where a darkling orb is rolled. There, beneath a grove of yew, Plays a babe. Should I despise Such a foam of gold, and eyes Burning beryline, so blue That the […]...
2. The Spirit Of The Unborn Babe The Spirit of the Unborn Babe peered through the window-pane, Peered through the window-pane that glowed like beacon in the night; For, oh, the sky was desolate and wild with wind and rain; And how the little room was crammed with coziness and light! Except the flirting of the fire there was no sound at […]...
3. The Weeping Babe She kneels by the cradle Where Jesus doth lie; Singing, Lullaby, my Baby! But why dost Thou cry? The babes of the village Smile sweetly in sleep; And lullaby, my Baby, That ever dost weep! I’ve wrapped Thee in linen, The gift of the Kings; And wool, soft and fleecy, The kind Shepherd brings. Now […]...
4. Sonnet XI As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase: Without this, folly, age and cold decay: If all were minded so, the […]...
5. Sonnet 11: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st In one of thine, from that which thou departest, And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st, Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; Without this folly, age, and cold decay, If all were minded so, the […]...
6. Mother's Loss If I could clasp my little babe Upon my breast to-night, I would not mind the blowing wind That shrieketh in affright. Oh, my lost babe! my little babe, My babe with dreamful eyes; Thy bed is cold; and night wind bold Shrieks woeful lullabies. My breast is softer than the sod; This room, with […]...
7. The Dove If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn, Shouldst call along the curving sphere, “Remain, Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leave me not in scorn!” With soft halloos of heavenly love and pain; Shouldst thou, O Spring! a-cower in coverts dark, ‘Gainst proud supplanting Summer sing thy plea, And move the mighty woods through mailed bark Till […]...
8. Dead poet I’m sure it would be easier to survive as a dead poet, I mean it in the surmise that I won’t be tempted To revise or rewrite the poem I wrote last night, or the Poems I wrote last week (which make me cringe when I Read them again), or when I read poetry of […]...
9. The Blind And The Dead She lay like a saint on her copper couch; Like an angel asleep she lay, In the stare of the ghoulish folks that slouch Past the Dead and sneak away. Then came old Jules of the sightless gaze, Who begged in the streets for bread. Each day he had come for a year of days, […]...
10. 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 […]...
11. The Dead Village Here there is death. But even here, they say, Here where the dull sun shines this afternoon As desolate as ever the dead moon Did glimmer on dead Sardis, men were gay; And there were little children here to play, With small soft hands that once did keep in tune The strings that stretch from […]...
12. A Dead Friend I. Gone, O gentle heart and true, Friend of hopes foregone, Hopes and hopeful days with you Gone? Days of old that shone Saw what none shall see anew, When we gazed thereon. Soul as clear as sunlit dew, Why so soon pass on, Forth from all we loved and knew Gone? II. Friend of […]...
13. Dead Boy The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction, A green bough from Virginia’s aged tree, And none of the county kin like the transaction, Nor some of the world of outer dark, like me. A boy not beautiful, nor good, nor clever, A black cloud full of storms too hot for keeping, A sword beneath […]...
14. The stork Last night the Stork came stalking, And, Stork, beneath your wing Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber, The tiniest little thing! From Babyland, out yonder Beside a silver sea, You brought a priceless treasure As gift to mine and me! Last night my dear one listened – And, wife, you knew the cry – The dear […]...
15. Come not when I am dead Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, […]...
16. Sonnet 23 – Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead, Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine? And would the sun for thee more coldly shine Because of grave-damps falling round my head? I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine- But. . . so much to […]...
17. If I were dead ‘IF I were dead, you’d sometimes say, Poor Child!’ The dear lips quiver’d as they spake, And the tears brake From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled. Poor Child, poor Child! I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song. It is not true that Love will do no wrong. Poor Child! […]...
18. When I am dead, my dearest When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the […]...
19. The Living Dead Since I have come to years sedate I see with more and more acumen The bitter irony of Fate, The vanity of all things human. Why, just to-day some fellow said, As I surveyed Fame’s outer portal: “By gad! I thought that you were dead.” Poor me, who dreamed to be immortal! But that’s the […]...
20. The distance that the dead have gone The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year. And then, that we have followed them, We more than half suspect, So intimate have we become With their dear retrospect....
21. THE REMORSE OF THE DEAD O SHADOWY Beauty mine, when thou shalt sleep In the deep heart of a black marble tomb; When thou for mansion and for bower shalt keep Only one rainy cave of hollow gloom; And when the stone upon thy trembling breast, And on thy straight sweet body’s supple grace, Crushes thy will and keeps thy […]...
22. To The Dead What I hope (when I hope) is that we’ll See each other again, . . . and again reach the VEIN In which we loved each other. . It existed. It existed. There is a NIGHT within the NIGHT, . . . for, like the detectives (the Ritz Brothers) In The Gorilla, Once we’d been […]...
23. As by the dead we love to sit As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here In broken mathematics We estimate our prize Vast in its fading ration To our penurious eyes!...
24. Ballade of Dead Actors Where are the passions they essayed, And where the tears they made to flow? Where the wild humours they portrayed For laughing worlds to see and know? Othello’s wrath and Juliet’s woe? Sir Peter’s whims and Timon’s gall? And Millamant and Romeo? Into the night go one and all. Where are the braveries, fresh or […]...
25. Thou Whose Spell Can Raise the Dead Thou whose spell can raise the dead, Bid the prophet’s form appear. “Samuel, raise thy buried head! “King, behold the phantom seer!” Earth yawn’d; he stood the centre of a cloud: Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud. Death stood all glassy in the fixed eye: His hand was withered, and his veins were […]...
26. Beauteous Individuality Thou in truth shouldst be one, yet not with the whole shouldst thou be so. ‘Tis through the reason thou’rt one, art so with it through the heart. Voice of the whole is thy reason, but thou thine own heart must be ever; If in thy heart reason dwells evermore, happy art thou....
27. Yes, the Dead Speak to Us YES, the Dead speak to us. This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness. Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here And when two living men fall out, when one says the Dead spoke a Yes, and the […]...
28. Garden and cradle When our babe he goeth walking in his garden, Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play; The posies they are good to him, And bow them as they should to him, As fareth he upon his kingly way; And birdlings of the wood to him Make music, gentle music, all the day, When our babe […]...
29. The Song of the Dead Hear now the Song of the Dead in the North by the torn berg-edges They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges. Song of the Dead in the South in the sun by their skeleton horses, Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the sere river-courses. Song of […]...
30. On a Dead Child Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! Though cold and stark and bare, The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. Thy mother’s treasure wert thou;-alas! no longer To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be Thy father’s pride:-ah, […]...
31. What care the Dead, for Chanticleer What care the Dead, for Chanticleer What care the Dead for Day? ‘Tis late your Sunrise vex their face And Purple Ribaldry of Morning Pour as blank on them As on the Tier of Wall The Mason builded, yesterday, And equally as cool What care the Dead for Summer? The Solstice had no Sun Could […]...
32. Pensive on Her Dead Gazing, I Heard the Mother of All PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All, Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-fields gazing; (As the last gun ceased-but the scent of the powder-smoke linger’d;) As she call’d to her earth with mournful voice while she stalk’d: Absorb them well, O my earth, she cried-I charge […]...
33. Dead Love Dead love, by treason slain, lies stark, White as a dead stark-stricken dove: None that pass by him pause to mark Dead love. His heart, that strained and yearned and strove As toward the sundawn strives the lark, Is cold as all the old joy thereof. Dead men, re-risen from dust, may hark When rings […]...
34. A Dead Boche To you who’d read my songs of War And only hear of blood and fame, I’ll say (you’ve heard it said before) ВЂќWar’s Hell! ” and if you doubt the same, Today I found in Mametz Wood A certain cure for lust of blood: Where, propped against a shattered trunk, In a great mess of […]...
35. Sonnet 28 – My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! And yet they seem alive and quivering Against my tremulous hands which loose the string And let them drop down on my knee to-night. This said,-he wished to have me in his sight Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring To come and touch […]...
36. Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell. Nay if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so That I […]...
37. Dead Man's Dump The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketed with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear. The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But pained them not, though their bones crunched; Their shut mouths made […]...
38. The Three Enemies THE FLESH “Sweet, thou art pale.” “More pale to see, Christ hung upon the cruel tree And bore His Father’s wrath for me.” “Sweet, thou art sad.” “Beneath a rod More heavy, Christ for my sake trod The winepress of the wrath of God.” “Sweet, thou art weary.” “Not so Christ: Whose mighty love of […]...
39. I Stood With the Dead I Stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still: When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead. And my slow heart said, ‘You must kill, you must kill: ‘Soldier, soldier, morning is red’. On the shapes of the slain in their crumpled disgrace I stared for a while through the thin cold rain… ‘O […]...
40. Dead Musicians I From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, The substance of my dreams took fire. You built cathedrals in my heart, And lit my pinnacled desire. You were the ardour and the bright Procession of my thoughts toward prayer. You were the wrath of storm, the light On distant citadels aflare. II Great names, I cannot find […]...