IN THE FOREST

Related poetry:

1. Stanzas Written under an Oak in Windsor Forest “HERE POPE FIRST SUNG!” O, hallow’d Tree! Such is the boast thy bark displays; Thy branches, like thy Patron’s lays, Shall ever, ever, sacred be; Nor with’ring storm, nor woodman’s stroke, Shall harm the POET’S favourite Oak. ‘Twas HERE, he woo’d his MUSE of fire, While Inspiration’s wond’rous art, Sublimely stealing thro’ his heart Did […]...
2. The Poet And The Bird Said a people to a poet -” Go out from among us straightway! While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine. There’s a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!” The poet went out weeping – the nightingale ceased chanting; […]...
3. Forest Of Europe The last leaves fell like notes from a piano And left their ovals echoing in the ear; With gawky music stands, the winter forest Looks like an empty orchestra, its lines Ruled on these scattered manuscripts of snow. The inlaid copper laurel of an oak Shines though the brown-bricked glass above your head As bright […]...
4. The Forest Path Oh, the charm of idle dreaming Where the dappled shadows dance, All the leafy aisles are teeming With the lure of old romance! Down into the forest dipping, Deep and deeper as we go, One might fancy dryads slipping Where the white-stemmed birches grow. Lurking gnome and freakish fairy In the fern may peep and […]...
5. Love The Wild Swan “I hate my verses, every line, every word. Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try One grass-blade’s curve, or the throat of one bird That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky. Oh cracked and twilight mirrors ever to catch One color, one glinting Flash, of the splendor of things. Unlucky hunter, Oh bullets […]...
6. A Forest Hymn The groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them, – ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the […]...
7. The Song of the Little Hunter Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry, Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer, Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear! Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade, And the whisper spreads and widens […]...
8. Critic and Poet: an Epilogue No man had ever heard a nightingale, When once a keen-eyed naturalist was stirred To study and define what is a bird, To classify by rote and book, nor fail To mark its structure and to note the scale Whereon its song might possibly be heard. Thus far, no farther; so he spake the word. […]...
9. A Net to Snare the Moonlight [What the Man of Faith said] The dew, the rain and moonlight All prove our Father’s mind. The dew, the rain and moonlight Descend to bless mankind. Come, let us see that all men Have land to catch the rain, Have grass to snare the spheres of dew, And fields spread for the grain. Yea, […]...
10. The Solitary Huntsman The solitary huntsman No coat of pink doth wear, But midnight black from cap to spur Upon his midnight mare. He drones a tuneless jingle In lieu of tally-ho: “I’ll catch a fox And put him in a box And never let him go.” The solitary huntsman, He follows silent hounds. No horn proclaims his […]...
11. Answer Between two nights The brief day. The farm is there. And in the thicket, a snare The hunter set for us. Noon’s desert. It still warms the stone. Chirping in the wind, Buzz of a guitar Down the hillside. The slow match Of withered foliage Glows against the wall. Salt-white air. Fall’s arrowheads, The crane’s […]...
12. In The Forest HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead, Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red, Here let us burn them in noon’s flaming torches of fire. We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long […]...
13. About The Nightingale From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale: In stale blank verse a subject stale I send per post my Nightingale; And like an honest bard, dear Wordsworth, You’ll tell me what you think, my Bird’s worth. My own opinion’s briefly this His bill he opens not amiss; And when he has […]...
14. Dream-Forest Where sunshine flecks the green, Through towering woods my way Goes winding all the day. Scant are the flowers that bloom Beneath the bosky screen And cage of golden gloom. Few are the birds that call, Shrill-voiced and seldom seen. Where silence masters all, And light my footsteps fall, The whispering runnels only With blazing […]...
15. Pine Forest Let us go now into the forest. Trees will pass by your face, And I will stop and offer you to them, But they cannot bend down. The night watches over its creatures, Except for the pine trees that never change: The old wounded springs that spring Blessed gum, eternal afternoons. If they could, the […]...
16. The Forest Reverie ‘Tis said that when The hands of men Tamed this primeval wood, And hoary trees with groans of woe, Like warriors by an unknown foe, Were in their strength subdued, The virgin Earth Gave instant birth To springs that ne’er did flow That in the sun Did rivulets run, And all around rare flowers did […]...
17. In the Black Forest I lay beneath the pine trees, And looked aloft, where, through The dusky, clustered tree-tops, Gleamed rent, gay rifts of blue. I shut my eyes, and a fancy Fluttered my sense around: “I lie here dead and buried, And this is churchyard ground. “I am at rest for ever; Ended the stress and strife.” Straight […]...
18. Sleeping In The Forest I thought the earth remembered me, She took me back so tenderly, Arranging her dark skirts, her pockets Full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, Nothing between me and the white fire of the stars But my thoughts, and they floated light as moths Among the […]...
19. The Dark Forest Dark is the forest and deep, and overhead Hang stars like seeds of light In vain, though not since they were sown was bred Anything more bright. And evermore mighty multitudes ride About, nor enter in; Of the other multitudes that dwell inside Never yet was one seen. The forest foxglove is purple, the marguerite […]...
20. These Fevered Days to take them to the Forest These Fevered Days to take them to the Forest Where Waters cool around the mosses crawl And shade is all that devastates the stillness Seems it sometimes this would be all...
21. 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!...
22. Sonnet to the Memory of Miss Maria Linley So bends beneath the storm yon balmy flow’r, Whose spicy blossoms once perfum’d the gale; So press’d with tears reclines yon lily pale, Obedient to the rude and beating show’r. Still is the LARK, that hov’ring o’er yon spray, With jocund carol usher’d in the morn; And mute the NIGHTINGALE, whose tender lay Melted the […]...
23. I Dreamed Of Forest Alleys fair I. I DREAMED of forest alleys fair And fields of gray-flowered grass, Where by the yellow summer moon My Jenny seemed to pass. I dreamed the yellow summer moon, Behind a cedar wood, Lay white on fields of rippling grass Where I and Jenny stood. I dreamed – but fallen through my dream, In a […]...
24. Every day I bear a burden Every day I bear a burden, and I bear this calamity for a purpose: I bear the discomfort of cold and December’s snow in hope of spring. Before the fattener-up of all who are lean, I drag this so emaciated body; Though they expel me from two hundred cities, I bear it for the sake […]...
25. Shiva There is a hawk that is picking the birds out of our sky, She killed the pigeons of peace and security, She has taken honesty and confidence from nations and men, She is hunting the lonely heron of liberty. She loads the arts with nonsense, she is very cunning Science with dreams and the state […]...
26. Dream Song 44: Tell it to the forest fire, tell it to the moon Tell it to the forest fire, tell it to the moon, Mention it in general to the moon On the way down, He’s about to have his lady, permanent; And this is the worst of all came ever sent Writhing Henry’s way. Ha ha, fifth column, quisling, genocide, He held his hands & laught from […]...
27. By The Arno The oleander on the wall Grows crimson in the dawning light, Though the grey shadows of the night Lie yet on Florence like a pall. The dew is bright upon the hill, And bright the blossoms overhead, But ah! the grasshoppers have fled, The little Attic song is still. Only the leaves are gently stirred […]...
28. On Music When through life unblest we rove, Losing all that made life dear, Should some notes we used to love, In days of boyhood, meet our ear, Oh! how welcome breathes the strain! Wakening thoughts that long have slept, Kindling former smiles again In faded eyes that long have wept. Like the gale, that sighs along […]...
29. Dream Song 116: Through the forest, followed, Henry made his silky way Through the forest, followed, Henry made his silky way, No chickadee was troubled, small moss smiled On his swift passage. But there were those ahead when at midday They met in a clearing and lookt at each other awhile. To kill was not the message. He only could go with them—odds? 20 to one-and-a-half; Pointless. […]...
30. Sonnet XIII: Letters and Lines To the Shadow Letters and lines we see are soon defac’d, Metals do waste and fret with canker’s rust, The diamond shall once consume to dust, And freshest colors with foul stains disgrac’d; Paper and ink can paint but naked words, To write with blood of force offends the sight; And if with tears I […]...
31. In the Beck There is a fish, that quivers in the pool, Itself a shadow, but its shadow, clear. Catch it again and again, it still is there. Against the flowing stream, its life keeps pace With death – the impulse and the flash of grace Hiding in its stillness, moves to be motionless. No net will hold […]...
32. 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 […]...
33. Here I Am drunk again at 3 a. m. at the end of my 2nd bottle Of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of Poesy An old man Maddened for the flesh of young girls in this Dwindling twilight Liver gone Kidneys going Pancrea pooped Top-floor blood pressure While all the fear of the […]...
34. What Kind Of Mistress He Would Have Be the mistress of my choice, Clean in manners, clear in voice; Be she witty, more than wise, Pure enough, though not precise; Be she showing in her dress, Like a civil wilderness, That the curious may detect Order in a sweet neglect; Be she rolling in her eye, Tempting all the passers by; And […]...
35. The Terrible Abstractions The naked hunter’s fist, bunched round his spear, Was tight and wet inside with sweat of fear; He heard behind him what the hunted hear. The silence in the undergrowth crept near; Its mischief tickled in his nervous ear And he became the prey, the quivering deer. The naked hunter feared the threat he knew: […]...
36. Refuge TWILIGHT, a timid fawn, went glimmering by, And Night, the dark-blue hunter, followed fast, Ceaseless pursuit and flight were in the sky, But the long chase had ceased for us at last. We watched together while the driven fawn Hid in the golden thicket of the day. We, from whose hearts pursuit and flight were […]...
37. Much Madness is divinest Sense Much MADNESS is divinest sense (Author) To a discerning eye Much sense the starkest madness. ‘T’ is the MAJORITY In this, as all, prevail Assent and you are sane Demur, you’re straightway dangerous And handled with a Chain....
38. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
39. New Love, New Life I. She, who so long has lain Stone-stiff with folded wings, Within my heart again The brown bird wakes and sings. Brown nightingale, whose strain Is heard by day, by night, She sings of joy and pain, Of sorrow and delight. II. ‘Tis true, in other days Have I unbarred the door; He knows the […]...
40. Noon I bend to the ground To catch Something whispered, Urgent, drifting Across the ditches. The heaviness of Flies stuttering In orbit, dirt Ripening, the sweat Of eggs. There are Small streams The width ofa thumb Running in the villages Of sheaves, whole Eras of grain Wakening on The stalks, a roof That breathes over My […]...