Kathleen Raine
Change
Change Said the sun to the moon, You cannot stay. Change Says the moon to the waters, All is flowing. Change Says the fields to the grass, Seed-time and harvest, Chaff and grain. You
The River
In my first sleep I came to the river And looked down Through the clear water – Only in dream Water so pure, Laced and undulant Lines of flow On its rocky bed Water
Transit of the Gods
Strange that the self’s continuum should outlast The Virgin, Aphrodite, and the Mourning Mother, All loves and griefs, successive deities That hold their kingdom in the human breast. Abandoned by the gods, woman with
The Wilderness
I came too late to the hills: they were swept bare Winters before I was born of song and story, Of spell or speech with power of oracle or invocation, The great ash long
Shells
Reaching down arm-deep into bright water I gathered on white sand under waves Shells, drifted up on beaches where I alone Inhabit a finite world of years and days. I reached my arm down
Lament
Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun, Those crags in childhood that I used to climb? Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain, Hidden is the heart. A day of cloud, a
The End of Love
Now he is dead How should I know My true love’s arms From wind and snow? No man I meet In field or house Though in the street A hundred pass. The hurrying dust
Introspection
If you go deep Into the heart What do you find there? Fear, fear, Fear of the jaws of the rock, Fear of the teeth and splinters of iron that tear Flesh from the
Lenten Flowers
Primrose, anemone, bluebell, moss Grow in the Kingdom of the Cross And the ash-tree’s purple bud Dresses the spear that sheds his blood. With the thorns that pierce his brow Soft encircling petals grow
Harvest
Day is the hero’s shield, Achilles’ field, The light days are the angels. We the seed. Against eternal light and gorgon’s face Day is the shield And we the grass Native to fields of
Nocturne
Night comes, an angel stands Measuring out the time of stars, Still are the winds, and still the hours. It would be peace to lie Still in the still hours at the angel’s feet,
Storm
God in me is the fury on the bare heath God in me shakes the interior kingdom of my heaven. God in me is the fire wherein I burn. God in me swirling cloud
Love Poem
Yours is the face that the earth turns to me, Continuous beyond its human features lie The mountain forms that rest against the sky. With your eyes, the reflecting rainbow, the sun’s light Sees
Vegetation
O never harm the dreaming world, The world of green, the world of leaves, But let its million palms unfold The adoration of the trees. It is a love in darkness wrought Obedient to
The Ancient Speech
A Gaelic bard they praise who in fourteen adjectives Named the one indivisible soul of his glen; For what are the bens and the glens but manifold qualities, Immeasurable complexities of soul? What are