Such Singing in the Wild Branches

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1. I Hear America Singing I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear; Those of mechanics-each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong; The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work; The boatman singing what belongs to him in […]...
2. Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches Have you ever tried to enter the long black branches Of other lives – Tried to imagine what the crisp fringes, full of honey, Hanging From the branches of the young locust trees, in early morning, Feel like? Do you think this world was only an entertainment for you? Never to enter the sea and […]...
3. Our Singing Strength It snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm The flakes could find no landing place to form. Hordes spent themselves to make it wet and cold, And still they failed of any lasting hold. They made no white impression on the black. They disappeared as if earth sent them back. Not till from […]...
4. Branches The long beautiful night of the wind and rain in April, The long night hanging down from the drooping branches of the top of a birch tree, Swinging, swaying, to the wind for a partner, to the rain for a partner. What is the humming, swishing thing they sing in the morning now? The rain, […]...
5. The Valley's Singing Day The sound of the closing outside door was all. You made no sound in the grass with your footfall, As far as you went from the door, which was not far; But had awakened under the morning star The first song-bird that awakened all the rest. He could have slept but a moment more at […]...
6. I shall keep singing! I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes Each with a Robin’s expectation I with my Redbreast And my Rhymes Late when I take my place in summer But I shall bring a fuller tune Vespers are sweeter than Matins Signor Morning only the seed of Noon...
7. The singing dog when the dog began to sing The people ran amok A man shinned up a flagpole A woman chewed her sock Children danced the drainpipe A policeman robbed a bank The mayor and all the councillors Fired doughnuts from a tank The queen embraced the dustman The clergy showed their knees Librarians in their thousands […]...
8. Singing Of speckled eggs the birdie sings And nests among the trees; The sailor sings of ropes and things In ships upon the seas. The children sing in far Japan, The children sing in Spain; The organ with the organ man Is singing in the rain....
9. The Wild Flower's Song As I wandered the forest, The green leaves among, I heard a Wild Flower Singing a song. ‘I slept in the earth In the silent night, I murmured my fears And I felt delight. ‘In the morning I went As rosy as morn, To seek for new joy; But oh! met with scorn.’...
10. These, I, Singing in Spring THESE, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers, (For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy? And who but I should be the poet of comrades?) Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world-but soon I pass the gates, Now along the pond-side-now wading in a little, fearing not the wet, […]...
11. THE SINGING I was walking home down a hill near our house on a balmy afternoon Under the blossoms Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here every spring with Their burgeoning forth When a young man turned in from a corner singing no it was more of A cadenced shouting Most of which I couldn’t […]...
12. The Singing Silences WHILE the yellow constellations shine with pale and tender glory, In the lilac-scented stillness let us listen to earth’s story. All the flowers like moths a-flutter glimmer rich with dusky hues; Everywhere around us seem to fall from nowhere the sweet dews. Through the drowsy lull, the murmur, stir of leaf and sleepy hum, We […]...
13. Wild Strawberries Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream. One such to melt at the tongue’s root, Confounding taste […]...
14. The Singing-Woman From The Wood's Edge What should I be but a prophet and a liar, Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar? Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water, What should I be but the fiend’s god-daughter? And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog, That was got beneath a furze-bush and […]...
15. Wild Grapes What tree may not the fig be gathered from? The grape may not be gathered from the birch? It’s all you know the grape, or know the birch. As a girl gathered from the birch myself Equally with my weight in grapes, one autumn, I ought to know what tree the grape is fruit of. […]...
16. The Call Of The Wild Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there’s nothing else to gaze on, Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore, Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon, Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar? Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it, Searched the Vastness for a […]...
17. No Bobolink reverse His Singing No Bobolink reverse His Singing When the only Tree Ever He minded occupying By the Farmer be Clove to the Root His Spacious Future Best Horizon gone Whose Music be His Only Anodyne Brave Bobolink...
18. The singing in god's acre Out yonder in the moonlight, wherein God’s Acre lies, Go angels walking to and fro, singing their lullabies. Their radiant wings are folded, and their eyes are bended low, As they sing among the beds whereon the flowers delight to grow, “Sleep, oh, sleep! The Shepherd guardeth His sheep. Fast speedeth the night away, Soon […]...
19. The Poor Singing Dame Beneath an old wall, that went round an old Castle, For many a year, with brown ivy o’erspread; A neat little Hovel, its lowly roof raising, Defied the wild winds that howl’d over its shed: The turrets, that frown’d on the poor simple dwelling, Were rock’d to and fro, when the Tempest would roar, And […]...
20. Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women (from a song) Perhaps I was born kneeling, Born coughing on the long winter, Born expecting the kiss of mercy, Born with a passion for quickness And yet, as things progressed, I learned early about the stockade Or taken out, the fume of the enema. By two or three I learned not to kneel, Not […]...
21. Wild Geese You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body Love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. […]...
22. For The Future Planting trees early in spring, We make a place for birds to sing In time to come. How do we know? They are singing here now. There is no other guarantee That singing will ever be....
23. I Heard Immanuel Singing (The poem shows the Master, with his work done, singing to free his heart in Heaven.) I heard Immanuel singing Within his own good lands, I saw him bend above his harp. I watched his wandering hands Lost amid the harp-strings; Sweet, sweet I heard him play. His wounds were altogether healed. Old things had […]...
24. Wild Swans I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over. And what did I see I had not seen before? Only a question less or a question more: Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying. Tiresome heart, forever living and dying, House without air, I leave you and lock your door. Wild […]...
25. Eighty Not Out In the gay, gleamy morn I adore to go walking, And oh what sweet people I meet on my way! I hail them with joy for I love to be talking, Although I have nothing important to say. I cheer the old grannies whose needles are plying; I watch the wee kiddies awhoop at their […]...
26. She is Overheard Singing OH, Prue she has a patient man, And Joan a gentle lover, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,­ But my true love’s a rover! Mig, her man’s as good as cheese And honest as a briar, Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,­ But my dear lad’s a liar! Oh, Sue and Prue and […]...
27. Magdalen Walks The little white clouds are racing over the sky, And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower of March, The daffodil breaks under foot, and the tasselled larch Sways and swings as the thrush goes hurrying by. A delicate odour is borne on the wings of the morning Breeze, The odour of […]...
28. As Through the Wild Green Hills of Wyre As through the wild green hills of Wyre The train ran, changing sky and shire, And far behind, a fading crest, Low in the forsaken west Sank the high-reared head of Clee, My hand lay empty on my knee. Aching on my knee it lay: That morning half a shire away So many an honest […]...
29. Wild Oats About twenty years ago Two girls came in where I worked – A bosomy English rose And her friend in specs I could talk to. Faces in those days sparked The whole shooting-match off, and I doubt If ever one had like hers: But it was the friend I took out, And in seven years […]...
30. Wild Peaches 1 When the world turns completely upside down You say we’ll emigrate to the Eastern Shore Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore; We’ll live among wild peach trees, miles from town, You’ll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown Homespun, dyed butternut’s dark gold colour. Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor, We’ll swim in milk and […]...
31. Wild Dark Love Song Her man, A wild dark love song Borne deep within her gypsy soul He’s gone to live in jagged mountains Where salmon jump and sing In tarns High above The cloud lines Beyond the silver moon In the shadow of the Cader Idris In misty mountains Where meadowlarks are known to wing And wild geese […]...
32. Wild With All Regrets (Another version of “A Terre”.) To Siegfried Sassoon My arms have mutinied against me brutes! My fingers fidget like ten idle brats, My back’s been stiff for hours, damned hours. Death never gives his squad a Stand-at-ease. I can’t read. There: it’s no use. Take your book. A short life and a merry one, my […]...
33. Wandering at Morn WANDERING at morn, Emerging from the night, from gloomy thoughts-thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee, harmonious Union! thee, Singing Bird divine! Thee, seated coil’d in evil times, my Country, with craft and black dismay-with every meanness, treason thrust upon thee; -Wandering-this common marvel I beheld-the parent thrush I watch’d, feeding its young, (The singing […]...
34. The Wild Old Wicked Man Because I am mad about women I am mad about the hills,’ Said that wild old wicked man Who travels where God wills. ‘Not to die on the straw at home. Those hands to close these eyes, That is all I ask, my dear, From the old man in the skies. Daybreak and a candle-end. […]...
35. The Last Mowing There’s a place called Far-away Meadow We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhouse: The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flowers That can’t stand mowers and plowers. It must be now, through, in season Before the not mowing brings trees on, Before […]...
36. Two Kinds of Deliverance 1 Last night the geese came back, Slanting fast From the blossom of the rising moon down To the black pond. A muskrat Swimming in the twilight saw them and hurried To the secret lodges to tell everyone Spring had come. And so it had. By morning when I went out The last of the […]...
37. I heard a bird at dawn I heard a bird at dawn Singing sweetly on a tree, That the dew was on the lawn, And the wind was on the lea; But I didn’t listen to him, For he didn’t sing to me. I didn’t listen to him, For he didn’t sing to me That the dew was on the lawn […]...
38. 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 […]...
39. The Wild Honey-Suckle Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet; …No roving foot shall crush thee here, …No busy hand provoke a tear. By Nature’s self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the gaurdian shade, […]...
40. The Wild Common The quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping, Little jets of sunlight-texture imitating flame; Above them, exultant, the peewits are sweeping: They are lords of the desolate wastes of sadness their screamings proclaim. Rabbits, handfuls of brown earth, lie Low-rounded on the mournful grass they have bitten down to the quick. Are they asleep? […]...