Grief

Related poetry:

1. If grief for grief can touch thee If grief for grief can touch thee, If answering woe for woe, If any truth can melt thee Come to me now! I cannot be more lonely, More drear I cannot be! My worn heart beats so wildly ‘Twill break for thee And when the world despises When Heaven repels my prayer Will not mine […]...
2. I measure every Grief I meet I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes I wonder if It weighs like Mine Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long Or did it just begin I could not tell the Date of Mine It feels so old a pain I wonder if it hurts to live […]...
3. I can wade Grief I can wade Grief Whole Pools of it I’m used to that But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet And I tip drunken Let no Pebble smile ‘Twas the New Liquor That was all! Power is only Pain Stranded, thro’ Discipline, Till Weights will hang Give Balm to Giants And they’ll wilt, […]...
4. My Lute Awake My lute awake! perform the last Labour that thou and I shall waste, And end that I have now begun; For when this song is sung and past, My lute be still, for I have done. As to be heard where ear is none, As lead to grave in marble stone, My song may pierce […]...
5. Grief is a Mouse Grief is a Mouse And chooses Wainscot in the Breast For His Shy House And baffles quest Grief is a Thief quick startled Pricks His Ear report to hear Of that Vast Dark That swept His Being back Grief is a Juggler boldest at the Play Lest if He flinch the eye that way Pounce […]...
6. Israfel In Heaven a spirit doth dwell “Whose heart-strings are a lute”; None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell), Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute. Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamored moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red […]...
7. The Right to Grief To Certain Poets About to Die TAKE your fill of intimate remorse, perfumed sorrow, Over the dead child of a millionaire, And the pity of Death refusing any check on the bank Which the millionaire might order his secretary to Scratch off And get cashed. Very well, You for your grief and I for mine. […]...
8. Sonnet 42: That thou hast her, it is not all my grief That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her because thou know’st I love her, […]...
9. 'Tis good the looking back on Grief ‘Tis good the looking back on Grief To re-endure a Day We thought the Mighty Funeral Of All Conceived Joy To recollect how Busy Grass Did meddle one by one Till all the Grief with Summer waved And none could see the stone. And though the Woe you have Today Be larger As the Sea […]...
10. Talking to Grief Ah, Grief, I should not treat you Like a homeless dog Who comes to the back door For a crust, for a meatless bone. I should trust you. I should coax you Into the house and give you Your own corner, A worn mat to lie on, Your own water dish. You think I don’t […]...
11. Grief I tell you hopeless grief is passionless, That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express Grief for thy […]...
12. "How Great My Grief" (Triolet) How great my grief, my joys how few, Since first it was my fate to know thee! – Have the slow years not brought to view How great my grief, my joys how few, Nor memory shaped old times anew, Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee How great my grief, my joys how few, Since […]...
13. The Oblation Ask nothing more of me, sweet; All I can give you I give. Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet: Love that should help you to live, Song that should spur you to soar. All things were nothing to give Once to have sense of you more, Touch […]...
14. Echo How sweet the answer Echo makes To music at night, When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away, o’er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light. Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e’er beneath the moonlight’s star, Of horn or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. ‘Tis […]...
15. UPON JULIA'S VOICE When I thy singing next shall hear, I’ll wish I might turn all to ear, To drink-in notes and numbers, such As blessed souls can’t hear too much Then melted down, there let me lie Entranced, and lost confusedly; And by thy music strucken mute, Die, and be turn’d into a Lute....
16. Orpheus with his Lute Made Trees Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In […]...
17. Grief If grief could burn out Like a sunken coal The heart would rest quiet The unrent soul Be as still as a veil But I have watched all night The fire grow silent The grey ash soft And I stir the stubborn flint The flames have left And the bereft Heart lies impotent...
18. Orpheus ? or John Fletcher. ORPHEUS with his lute made trees And the mountain tops that freeze Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads […]...
19. As imperceptibly as Grief As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy A Quietness distilled As Twilight long begun, Or Nature spending with herself Sequestered Afternoon The Dusk drew earlier in The Morning foreign shone A courteous, yet harrowing Grace, As Guest, that would be gone And thus, without a Wing […]...
20. Silentium Amoris As often-times the too resplendent sun Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won A single ballad from the nightingale, So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail, And all my sweetest singing out of tune. And as at dawn across the level mead On wings impetuous […]...
21. To J. S The wind, that beats the mountain, blows More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those That are cast in gentle mould. And me this knowledge bolder made, Or else I had not dare to flow In these words toward you, and invade Even with a verse your holy woe. ‘Tis […]...
22. Dream Song 121: Grief is fatiguing. He is out of it Grief is fatiguing. He is out of it, The whole humiliating Human round, Out of this & that. He made a-many hearts go pit-a-pat Who now need never mind his nostril-hair Nor a critical error laid bare. He endured fifty years. He was Randall Jarrell And wrote a-many books & he wrote well. Peace to […]...
23. Sonnet 23: As an unperfect actor on the stage As an unperfect actor on the stage Who with his fear is put beside his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart, So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, And in mine own love’s strength seem to […]...
24. No Worst, There Is None. Pitched Past Pitch Of Grief No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing- Then lull, then leave […]...
25. The Thanksgiving Oh King of grief! (a title strange, yet true, To thee of all kings only due) Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee, Who in all grief preventest me? Shall I weep blood? why thou has wept such store That all thy body was one door. Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, […]...
26. H. Baptism As he that sees a dark and shady grove, Stays not, but looks beyond it on the sky; So when I view my sins, mine eyes remove More backward still, and to that water fly, Which is above the heav’ns, whose spring and rest Is in my dear Redeemer’s pierced side. O blessed streams! either […]...
27. To Delia: On Her Endeavouring To Conceal Her Grief At Parting Ah! wherefore should my weeping maid suppress Those gentle signs of undissembled woe? When from soft love proceeds the deep distress, Ah, why forbid the willing tears to flow? Since for my sake each dear translucent drop Breaks forth, best witness of thy truth sincere, My lips should drink the precious mixture up, And, ere […]...
28. Of Being is a Bird Of Being is a Bird The likest to the Down An Easy Breeze do put afloat The General Heavens upon It soars and shifts and whirls And measures with the Clouds In easy even dazzling pace No different the Birds Except a Wake of Music Accompany their feet As did the Down emit a Tune […]...
29. Sonnets 02: Into The Golden Vessel Of Great Song Into the golden vessel of great song Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast Let other lovers lie, in love and rest; Not we,-articulate, so, but with the tongue Of all the world: the churning blood, the long Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed Sharply together upon the escaping guest, The common […]...
30. Giving Myself Up I give up my eyes which are glass eggs. I give up my tongue. I give up my mouth which is the contstant dream of my tongue. I give up my throat which is the sleeve of my voice. I give up my heart which is a burning apple. I give up my lungs which […]...
31. THE WASSAIL Give way, give way, ye gates, and win An easy blessing to your bin And basket, by our entering in. May both with manchet stand replete; Your larders, too, so hung with meat, That though a thousand, thousand eat, Yet, ere twelve moons shall whirl about Their silv’ry spheres, there’s none may doubt But more’s […]...
32. O Beauty, Passing Beauty! O beauty, passing beauty! Sweetest sweet! How can thou let me waste my youth in sighs? I only ask to sit beside thy feet. Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes. Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold My arms about thee scarcely dare to speak. And nothing seems to […]...
33. On Huntingdon's "Miranda&quot The storm hath blown thee a lover, sweet, And laid him kneeling at thy feet. But, guerdon rich for favor rare! The wind hath all thy holy hair To kiss and to sing through and to flare Like torch-flames in the passionate air, About thee, O Miranda. Eyes in a blaze, eyes in a daze, […]...
34. Sonnet XXIV Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, And perspective it is the painter’s art. For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictured lies; Which in my bosom’s shop is […]...
35. When the Lad for Longing Sighs When the lad for longing sighs, Mute and dull of cheer and pale, If at death’s own door he lies, Maiden, you can heal his ail. Lovers’ ills are all to buy: The wan look, the hollow tone, The hung head, the sunken eye, You can have them for your own. Buy them, buy them: […]...
36. Sonnet 24: Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, And perspective it is best painter’s art. For through the painter must you see his skill To find where your true image pictured lies, Which in my bosom’s shop is […]...
37. And Wilt Thou Weep When I Am Low? And wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so – I would not give that bosom pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my […]...
38. Joseph's Coat Wounded I sing, tormented I indite, Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest: Sorrow hath chang’d its note: such is his will Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best. For well he knows, if but one grief and smart Among my many had his full career, Sure it would carry with it […]...
39. Put up my lute! Put up my lute! What of my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to charm Passive as Granite laps My Music Sobbing will suit as well as psalm! Would but the “Memnon” of the Desert Teach me the strain That vanquished Him When He surrendered to the Sunrise Maybe that would awaken them!...
40. The Dog of Art That dog with daisies for eyes Who flashes forth Flame of his very self at every bark Is the Dog of Art. Worked in wool, his blind eyes Look inward to caverns and jewels Which they see perfectly, And his voice Measures forth the treasure In music sharp and loud, Sharp and bright, Bright flaming […]...