At Baia

Related poetry:

1. Sleeping in Blue I lean into you, We bury down In the dunes The breeze holds Like a whisper You stroke my brown knees Your fingers Are my unspoken thoughts The silence is sensuous, Suffuses like Scent of sandalwood I watch The sea Your hands The waves Seep into my bones The sky descends We sleep in blue....
2. The Dream I have a dream To fill the golden sheath Of a remembered day…. (Air Heavy and massed and blue As the vapor of opium… Domes Fired in sulphurous mist… Sea Quiescent as a gray seal… And the emerging sun Spurting up gold Over Sydney, smoke-pale, rising out of the bay….) But the day is an […]...
3. Amber Hover The imagined center, our tongues Grew long to please it, licking The walls, a chamber built of scent, A moment followed by a lesser moment & a hunger to return. It couldn’t last. Resin Flowed glacially from wounds in the bark Pinned us in our entering As the orchids opened wider. First, Liquid, so […]...
4. Daybreak In Alabama When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music about Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest songs in it Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist And falling out of heaven like soft dew. I’m gonna put some tall tall trees in it And the scent […]...
5. In Back Of The Real railroad yard in San Jose I wandered desolate In front of a tank factory and sat on a bench Near the switchman’s shack. A flower lay on the hay on the asphalt highway the dread hay flower I thought It had a Brittle black stem and corolla of yellowish dirty Spikes like Jesus’ inchlong crown, […]...
6. Recollection THROUGH the blue shadowy valley I hastened in a dream: Flower rich the night, flower soft the air, a blue flower the stream I hurried over before I came to the cabin door, Where the orange flame-glow danced within on the beaten floor. And the lovely mother who drooped by the sleeping child arose: And […]...
7. Historion No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great At times pass athrough us, And we are melted into them, and are not Save reflexions of their souls. Thus am I Dante for a space and am One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and […]...
8. After the Engagement Well, Mabel, ’tis over and ended – The ball I wrote was to be; And oh! it was perfectly splendid – If you could have been here to see. I’ve a thousand things to write you That I know you are wanting to hear, And one, that is sure to delight you – I am […]...
9. Cradle Song FROM groves of spice, O’er fields of rice, Athwart the lotus-stream, I bring for you, Aglint with dew A little lovely dream. Sweet, shut your eyes, The wild fire-fiies Dance through the fairy neem; From the poppy-bole For you I stole A little lovely dream. Dear eyes, good-night, In golden light The stars around you […]...
10. Careers Father is quite the greatest poet That ever lived anywhere. You say you’re going to write great music – I chose that first: it’s unfair. Besides, now I can’t be the greatest painter and do Christ and angels, or lovely pears and apples and grapes on a green dish, or storms at sea, or anything […]...
11. Humayun To Zobeida (From the Urdu) You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn, Your sweetness in the nightingale, your white – ness in the swan. You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon, Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune. Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, […]...
12. John Horace Burleson I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five. I went to the city for themes and to enrich my art; There married the banker’s daughter, And later became president of the bank- Always looking forward to some leisure To write an epic novel of […]...
13. Snake I saw a young snake glide Out of the mottled shade And hang, limp on a stone: A thin mouth, and a tongue Stayed, in the still air. It turned; it drew away; Its shadow bent in half; It quickened and was gone I felt my slow blood warm. I longed to be that thing. […]...
14. The Receptionist France is the fairest land on earth, Lovely to heart’s desire, And twice a year I span its girth, Its beauty to admire. But when a pub I seek each night, To my profound vexation On form they hand me I’ve to write My occupation. So once in a derisive mood My pen I nibbled; […]...
15. A Celebration A middle-northern March, now as always – Gusts from the South broken against cold winds – But from under, as if a slow hand lifted a tide, It moves-not into April-into a second March, The old skin of wind-clear scales dropping Upon the mold: this is the shadow projects the tree Upward causing the sun […]...
16. 333. SongвЂ"Lovely Polly Stewart Chorus. —O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There’s ne’er a flower that blooms in May, That’s half so fair as thou art! THE FLOWER it blaws, it fades, it fa’s, And art can ne’er renew it; But worth and truth, eternal youth Will gie to Polly Stewart, O lovely Polly Stewart, &c. May […]...
17. The Opal Dream Cave In an opal dream cave I found a fairy: Her wings were frailer than flower petals, Frailer far than snowflakes. She was not frightened, but poised on my finger, Then delicately walked into my hand. I shut the two palms of my hands together And held her prisoner. I carried her out of the opal […]...
18. The Spanish Needle Lovely dainty Spanish needle With your yellow flower and white, Dew bedecked and softly sleeping, Do you think of me to-night? Shadowed by the spreading mango, Nodding o’er the rippling stream, Tell me, dear plant of my childhood, Do you of the exile dream? Do you see me by the brook’s side Catching crayfish ‘neath […]...
19. I Have Loved Hours At Sea I have loved hours at sea, gray cities, The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a poem That gave me heaven for an hour; First stars above a snowy hill, Voices of people kindly and wise, And the great look of love, long hidden, Found at last in meeting eyes. I have […]...
20. Before Her Portrait In Youth As lovers, banished from their lady’s face And hopeless of her grace, Fashion a ghostly sweetness in its place, Fondly adore Some stealth-won cast attire she wore, A kerchief or a glove: And at the lover’s beck Into the glove there fleets the hand, Or at impetuous command Up from the kerchief floats the virgin […]...
21. Song Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run; Holding up A scent-brimmed cup, Full of summer’s fragrance to the summer sun. Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour. Blossoms hold Mines of gold Deep within the […]...
22. To emma abbott There let thy hands be folded Awhile in sleep’s repose; The patient hands that wearied not, But earnestly and nobly wrought In charity and faith; And let thy dear eyes close The eyes that looked alway to God, Nor quailed beneath the chastening rod Of sorrow; Fold thou thy hands and eyes For just a […]...
23. Not From This Anger Not from this anger, anticlimax after Refusal struck her loin and the lame flower Bent like a beast to lap the singular floods In a land strapped by hunger Shall she receive a bellyful of weeds And bear those tendril hands I touch across The agonized, two seas. Behind my head a square of sky […]...
24. Sanary Her little hot room looked over the bay Through a stiff palisade of glinting palms, And there she would lie in the heat of the day, Her dark head resting upon her arms, So quiet, so still, she did not seem To think, to feel, or even to dream. The shimmering, blinding web of sea […]...
25. Sunset on the Spire All that I dream By day or night Lives in that stream Of lovely light. Here is the earth, And there is the spire; This is my hearth, And that is my fire. From the sun’s dome I am shouted proof That this is my home, And that is my roof. Here is my food, […]...
26. Pea Brush I WALKED down alone Sunday after church To the place where John has been cutting trees To see for myself about the birch He said I could have to bush my peas. The sun in the new-cut narrow gap Was hot enough for the first of May, And stifling hot with the odor of sap […]...
27. Daisy Where the thistle lifts a purple crown Six foot out of the turf, And the harebell shakes on the windy hill O breath of the distant surf! The hills look over on the South, And southward dreams the sea; And with the sea-breeze hand in hand Came innocence and she. Where ‘mid the gorse the […]...
28. Jasmines Your scent is in the room. Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me! Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume, Heavy with dew before the dawn of day! Your face was in the mirror. I could see You smile and vanish suddenly away, Leaving behind the vestige of a tear. Sad suffering face, from parting grown so […]...
29. A Bunch of Roses Roses ruddy and roses white, What are the joys that my heart discloses? Sitting alone in the fading light Memories come to me here tonight With the wonderful scent of the big red roses. Memories come as the daylight fades Down on the hearth where the firelight dozes; Flicker and flutter the lights and shades, […]...
30. 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 […]...
31. Willard Fluke My wife lost her health, And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds. Then that woman, whom the men Styled Cleopatra, came along. And we we married ones All broke our vows, myself among the rest. Years passed and one by one Death claimed them all in some hideous form, And I was borne along […]...
32. All All And All The Dry Worlds Lever I All all and all the dry worlds lever, Stage of the ice, the solid ocean, All from the oil, the pound of lava. City of spring, the governed flower, Turns in the earth that turns the ashen Towns around on a wheel of fire. How now my flesh, my naked fellow, Dug of the […]...
33. Autobiographical The lover in these poems Is me; The doctor, Love. He appears As husband, lover Analyst & muse, As father, son & maybe even God & surely death. All this is true. The man you turn to In the dark Is many men. This is an open secret Women share & yet agree to hide […]...
34. A Little Budding Rose It was a little budding rose, Round like a fairy globe, And shyly did its leaves unclose Hid in their mossy robe, But sweet was the slight and spicy smell It breathed from its heart invisible. The rose is blasted, withered, blighted, Its root has felt a worm, And like a heart beloved and slighted, […]...
35. 534. Song-Fragment-Why tell the lover WHY, why tell thy lover Bliss he never must enjoy”? Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie? O why, while fancy, raptur’d slumbers, “Chloris, Chloris” all the theme, Why, why would’st thou, cruel- Wake thy lover from his dream?...
36. To A Buddha Seated On A Lotus LORD BUDDHA, on thy Lotus-throne, With praying eyes and hands elate, What mystic rapture dost thou own, Immutable and ultimate? What peace, unravished of our ken, Annihilate from the world of men? The wind of change for ever blows Across the tumult of our way, To-morrow’s unborn griefs depose The sorrows of our yesterday. Dream […]...
37. WITH A WATER-LILY SEE, dear, what thy lover brings; ‘Tis the flower with the white wings. Buoyed upon the quiet stream In the spring it lay adream. Homelike to bestow this guest, Lodge it, dear one, in thy breast; There its leaves the secret keep Of a wave both still and deep. Child, beware the tarn-fed stream; Danger, […]...
38. The Poet Of Ignorance Perhaps the earth is floating, I do not know. Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups Made by some giant scissors, I do not know. Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear, I do not know. Perhaps God is only a deep voice Heard by the deaf, I do not know. Perhaps I am no […]...
39. Pear Tree Silver dust Lifted from the earth, Higher than my arms reach, You have mounted. O silver, Higher than my arms reach You front us with great mass; No flower ever opened So staunch a white leaf, No flower ever parted silver From such rare silver; O white pear, Your flower-tufts, Thick on the branch, Bring […]...
40. 324. Song-The Charms of Lovely Davies O HOW shall I, unskilfu’, try The poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration; Even they maun dare an effort mair Than aught they ever gave us, Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, The charms o’ lovely Davies. Each eye it cheers when she appears, Like Phoebus in the morning, When […]...