Thanksgiving

Related poetry:

1. Farewell and Thanksgiving Whatever I have left unsaid When I am dead O’muse forgive me. You were always there, Like light, like air. Those great good things Of which the least bird sings, So why not I? Yet thank you even then, Sweet muse, Amen....
2. Cocoon For A Skeleton Clothes: to compose The furtive, lone Pillar of bone To some repose. To let hands shirk Utterance behind A pocket’s blind Deceptive smirk. To mask, belie The undue haste Of breast for breast Or thigh for thigh. To screen, conserve The pose, when death Half strips the sheath And leaves the nerve. To edit, glose […]...
3. Sympathy I know what the caged bird feels, alas! When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, And the river flows like a stream of glass; When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, And the faint perfume from its chalice steals I know […]...
4. 418. Song-O were my love you lilac fair O WERE my love yon Lilac fair, Wi’ purple blossoms to the Spring, And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing! How I wad mourn when it was torn By Autumn wild, and Winter rude! But I wad sing on wanton wing, When youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d. O gin […]...
5. 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, […]...
6. I know why the caged bird sings A free bird leaps on the back Of the wind and floats downstream Till the current ends and dips his wing In the orange suns rays And dares to claim the sky. But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage Can seldom see through his bars of rage His wings are clipped and his […]...
7. Thanksgiving We walk on starry fields of white And do not see the daisies; For blessings common in our sight We rarely offer praises. We sigh for some supreme delight To crown our lives with splendor, And quite ignore our daily store Of pleasures sweet and tender. Our cares are bold and push their way Upon […]...
8. Thanksgiving (For John Bunker) The roar of the world is in my ears. Thank God for the roar of the world! Thank God for the mighty tide of fears Against me always hurled! Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife, And the sting of His chastening rod! Thank God for the stress and the pain […]...
9. Thanksgiving Gettin’ together to smile an’ rejoice, An’ eatin’ an’ laughin’ with folks of your choice; An’ kissin’ the girls an’ declarin’ that they Are growin’ more beautiful day after day; Chattin’ an’ braggin’ a bit with the men, Buildin’ the old family circle again; Livin’ the wholesome an’ old-fashioned cheer, Just for awhile at the […]...
10. A Thanksgiving to God for His House Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell; An little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where Thou my chamber for to ward Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. Low is my porch […]...
11. The Carver See, as the carver carves a rose, A wing, a toad, a serpent’s eye, In cruel granite, to disclose The soft things that in hardness lie, So this one, taking up his heart, Which time and change had made a stone, Carved out of it with dolorous art, Laboring yearlong and alone, The thing there […]...
12. Rest ON me to rest, my bird, my bird: The swaying branches of my heart Are blown by every wind toward The home whereto their wings depart. Build not your nest, my bird, on me; I know no peace but ever sway: O lovely bird, be free, be free, On the wild music of the day. […]...
13. The difference between Despair The difference between Despair And Fear is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been The Mind is smooth no Motion Contented as the Eye Upon the Forehead of a Bust That knows it cannot see...
14. Concerning Emperors I. GOD SEND THE REGICIDE Would that the lying rulers of the world Were brought to block for tyrannies abhorred. Would that the sword of Cromwell and the Lord, The sword of Joshua and Gideon, Hewed hip and thigh the hosts of Midian. God send that ironside ere tomorrow’s sun; Let Gabriel and Michael with […]...
15. To My Excellent Lucasia, On Our Friendship I did not live until this time Crown’d my felicity, When I could say without a crime, I am not thine, but thee. This carcass breath’d, and walkt, and slept, So that the world believe’d There was a soul the motions kept; But they were all deceiv’d. For as a watch by art is wound […]...
16. The Proud Farmer [In memory of E. S. Frazee, Rush County, Indiana] Into the acres of the newborn state He poured his strength, and plowed his ancient name, And, when the traders followed him, he stood Towering above their furtive souls and tame. That brow without a stain, that fearless eye Oft left the passing stranger wondering To […]...
17. Swift's Epitaph Swift has sailed into his rest; Savage indignation there Cannot lacerate his breast. Imitate him if you dare, World-besotted traveller; he Served human liberty....
18. Michael Robartes And The Dancer He. Opinion is not worth a rush; In this altar-piece the knight, Who grips his long spear so to push That dragon through the fading light, Loved the lady; and it’s plain The half-dead dragon was her thought, That every morning rose again And dug its claws and shrieked and fought. Could the impossible come […]...
19. Dead Men's Love There was a damned successful Poet; There was a Woman like the Sun. And they were dead. They did not know it. They did not know their time was done. They did not know his hymns Were silence; and her limbs, That had served Love so well, Dust, and a filthy smell. And so one […]...
20. The Falcon Why should my sleepy heart be taught To whistle mocking-bird replies? This is another bird you’ve caught, Soft-feathered, with a falcon’s eyes. The bird Imagination, That flies so far, that dies so soon; Her wings are coloured like the sun, Her breast is coloured like the moon. Weave her a chain of silver twist, And […]...
21. A Landscape By Courbet Low lies the mere beneath the moorside, still And glad of silence: down the wood sweeps clear To the utmost verge where fed with many a rill Low lies the mere. The wind speaks only summer: eye nor ear Sees aught at all of dark, hears aught of shrill, From sound or shadow felt or […]...
22. Come In As I came to the edge of the woods, Thrush music hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird By sleight of wing To better its perch for the night, Though it still could sing. The last of the light of the sun That […]...
23. Sandhill People I TOOK away three pictures. One was a white gull forming a half-mile arch from the pines toward Waukegan. One was a whistle in the little sandhills, a bird crying either to the sunset gone or the dusk come. One was three spotted waterbirds, zigzagging, cutting scrolls and jags, writing a bird Sanscrit of wing […]...
24. Loin Cloth BODY of Jesus taken down from the cross Carved in ivory by a lover of Christ, It is a child’s handful you are here, The breadth of a man’s finger, And this ivory loin cloth Speaks an interspersal in the day’s work, The carver’s prayer and whim And Christ-love....
25. The Bees and the Flies “The Mother Hive” Actions and Reactions A Farmer of the Augustan Age Perused in Virgil’s golden page The story of the secret won From Proteus by Cyrene’s son How the dank sea-god showed the swain Means to restore his hives again. More briefly, how a slaughtered bull Breeds honey by the bellyful. The egregious rustic […]...
26. An August Midnight I A shaded lamp and a waving blind, And the beat of a clock from a distant floor: On this scene enter winged, horned, and spined – A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore; While ‘mid my page there idly stands A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands. . . II Thus meet we five, […]...
27. APPARENT DEATH WEEP, maiden, weep here o’er the tomb of Love; He died of nothing by mere chance was slain. But is he really dead? oh, that I cannot prove: A nothing, a mere chance, oft gives him life again. 1767-9....
28. The Wounded Bird In the wide bed Under the freen embroidered quilt With flowers and leaves always in soft motion She is like a wounded bird resting on a pool. The hunter threw his dart And hit her breast, Hit her but did not kill. “O my wings, lift me lift me! I am not dreadfully hurt!” Down […]...
29. Hiawatha's Wedding-Feast You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, How the handsome Yenadizze Danced at Hiawatha’s wedding; How the gentle Chibiabos, He the sweetest of musicians, Sang his songs of love and longing; How Iagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous story-teller, Told his tales of strange adventure, That the feast might be more joyous, That the time might […]...
30. Aux Imagistes I think I have never been so exalted As I am now by you, O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine The twigs conspire against you Hear them! They hold you from behind You shall not take wing Except […]...
31. Snow In the gloom of whiteness, In the great silence of snow, A child was sighing And bitterly saying: “Oh, They have killed a white bird up there on her nest, The down is fluttering from her breast!” And still it fell through that dusky brightness On the child crying for the bird of the snow....
32. The Balance Wheel Where I waved at the sky And waited your love through a February sleep, I saw birds swinging in, watched them multiply Into a tree, weaving on a branch, cradling a keep In the arms of April sprung from the south to occupy This slow lap of land, like cogs of some balance wheel. I […]...
33. Flying Fish I HAVE lived in many half-worlds myself… and so I know you. I leaned at a deck rail watching a monotonous sea, the same circling birds and the same plunge of furrows carved by the plowing keel. I leaned so… and you fluttered struggling between two waves in the air now… and then under the […]...
34. Limitations If you could crowd them into forty lines! Yes; you can do it, once you get a start; All that you want is waiting in your head, For long-ago you’ve learnt it off by heart. . . . . Begin: your mind’s the room where you have slept, (Don’t pause for rhymes), till twilight woke […]...
35. Ode To Sleep On this my pensive pillow, gentle Sleep! Descend, in all thy downy plumage drest: Wipe with thy wing these eyes that wake to weep, And place thy crown of poppies on my breast. O steep my senses in oblivion’s balm, And sooth my throbbing pulse with lenient hand; This tempest of my boiling blood becalm! […]...
36. The Lady's Third Song When you and my true lover meet And he plays tunes between your feet. Speak no evil of the soul, Nor think that body is the whole, For I that am his daylight lady Know worse evil of the body; But in honour split his love Till either neither have enough, That I may hear […]...
37. Ibant Obscurж To-night I saw three maidens on the beach, Dark-robed descending to the sea, So slow, so silent of all speech, And visible to me Only by that strange drift-light, dim, forlorn, Of the sun’s wreck and clashing surges born. Each after other went, And they were gathered to his breast It seemed to me a […]...
38. Tom The Lunatic Sang old Tom the lunatic That sleeps under the canopy: ‘What change has put my thoughts astray And eyes that had s-o keen a sight? What has turned to smoking wick Nature’s pure unchanging light? ‘Huddon and Duddon and Daniel O’Leary. Holy Joe, the beggar-man, Wenching, drinking, still remain Or sing a penance on the […]...
39. On Anothers Sorrow Can I see anothers woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see anothers grief, And not seek for kind relief. Can I see a falling tear. And not feel my sorrows share, Can a father see his child, Weep, nor be with sorrow fill’d. Can a mother sit and hear. An infant groan […]...
40. To a Lock of Hair Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well – remember’d night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper’d love. Since then how often hast thou prest The torrid zone of this wild breast, Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin that […]...