The Grave Of The Kitchen Mouse

Related poetry:

1. Satire II:The Country Mouse and the Town Mouse MY mother’s maids, when they did sew and spin, They sang sometime a song of the field mouse, That for because her livelood was but thin [livelihood] Would needs go seek her townish sister’s house. She thought herself endured to much pain: The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse That when the furrows […]...
2. My White Mouse At dusk I saw a craintive mouse That sneaked and stole around the house; At first I took it for a ghost, For it was snowy white – almost. I’ve seen them in captivity, But this white mouse was wild and free, And every eye with stealth it stole And foraged in the garbage hole. […]...
3. The Cat in the Kitchen (For Donald Hall) Have you heard about the boy who walked by The black water? I won’t say much more. Let’s wait a few years. It wanted to be entered. Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand Reaches out and pulls him in. There was no Intention, exactly. The pond was lonely, […]...
4. Love's Grave MARK where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like, Its skeleton shadow on the broad-back’d wave! Here is a fitting spot to dig Love’s grave; Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike, And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand: In hearing of the ocean, and in sight Of those ribb’d wind-streaks running into white. […]...
5. The Grave Of Shelley Like burnt-out torches by a sick man’s bed Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone; Here doth the little night-owl make her throne, And the slight lizard show his jewelled head. And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red, In the still chamber of yon pyramid Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid, Grim warder […]...
6. When, Like A Running Grave When, like a running grave, time tracks you down, Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs, Love in her gear is slowly through the house, Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse, Hauled to the dome, Comes, like a scissors stalking, tailor age, Deliver me who timid in my tribe, Of love […]...
7. A Grave Man looking into the sea, Taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have to it yourself, It is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing, But you cannot stand in the middle of this; The sea has nothing to give but a well excavated grave. […]...
8. 76. To a Mouse WEE, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee, Wi’ murd’ring pattle! I’m truly sorry man’s dominion, Has broken nature’s social union, An’ justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, […]...
9. To A Mouse On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie, O what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee Wi’ murd’ring pattle! I’m truly sorry man’s dominion Has broken nature’s social union, An’ […]...
10. I see thee clearer for the Grave I see thee clearer for the Grave That took thy face between No Mirror could illumine thee Like that impassive stone I know thee better for the Act That made thee first unknown The stature of the empty nest Attests the Bird that’s gone....
11. Bill's Grave I’m gatherin’ flowers by the wayside to lay on the grave of Bill; I’ve sneaked away from the billet, ’cause Jim wouldn’t understand; ‘E’d call me a silly fat’ead, and larf till it made ‘im ill, To see me ‘ere in the cornfield, wiv a big bookay in me ‘and. For Jim and me we […]...
12. It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul. Entombed by whom, for what offence If Home or Foreign born Had I the curiosity ‘Twere not appeased of men Till Resurrection, I must guess Denied the small desire A Rose upon […]...
13. Churchill's Grave I stood beside the grave of him who blazed The comet of a season, and I saw The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed With not the less of sorrow and of awe On that neglected turf and quiet stone, With name no clearer than the names unknown, Which lay unread around it; and asked […]...
14. The Kitchen Chimney Builder, in building the little house, In every way you may please yourself; But please please me in the kitchen chimney: Don’t build me a chimney upon a shelf. However far you must go for bricks, Whatever they cost a-piece or a pound, But me enough for a full-length chimney, And build the chimney clear […]...
15. My Lady's Grave THE linnet in the rocky dells, The moor-lark in the air, The bee among the heather bells That hide my lady fair: The wild deer browse above her breast; The wild birds raise their brood; And they, her smiles of love caress’d, Have left her solitude! I ween that when the grave’s dark wall Did […]...
16. The Sign-Post The dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy, And the skeleton weeds and the never-dry, Rough, long grasses keep white with frost At the hill-top by the finger-post; The smoke of the traveller’s-joy is puffed Over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft. I read the sign. Which way shall I go? A voice says: […]...
17. Camping in a kitchen To say we’ve done it all before is not to bend The truth and though we’ve lost our youth The vision of the bright contemporary kitchen Draws us on, sustaining us beyond our strength. It’s all the donkey work that palls upon the weary joints, The stripping off of stubborn tiles, the cupboards With reviled […]...
18. Withered Grave Forever yours My dearly beloved one Carved in stone, many years ago. Underneath those loving words, a resting body Far too young, left by it’s soul. A few lonely flowers come back every year, But it’s apparent, no living soul is tending here. From the date, by now, forever must also be gone. But where […]...
19. My Heart, When First The Black-Bird Sings MY heart, when first the blackbird sings, My heart drinks in the song: Cool pleasure fills my bosom through And spreads each nerve along. My bosom eddies quietly, My heart is stirred and cool As when a wind-moved briar sweeps A stone into a pool But unto thee, when thee I meet, My pulses thicken […]...
20. At The Executed Murderer's Grave for J. L. D. Why should we do this? What good is it to us? Above all, How can we do such a thing? How can it possibly be done? Freud 1. My name is James A. Wright, and I was born Twenty-five miles from this infected grave, In Martins Ferry, Ohio, where one slave […]...
21. The Color of the Grave is Green The Color of the Grave is Green The Outer Grave I mean You would not know it from the Field Except it own a Stone To help the fond to find it Too infinite asleep To stop and tell them where it is But just a Daisy deep The Color of the Grave is white […]...
22. Grief is a Mouse Grief is a Mouse And chooses Wainscot in the Breast For His Shy House And baffles quest Grief is a Thief quick startled Pricks His Ear report to hear Of that Vast Dark That swept His Being back Grief is a Juggler boldest at the Play Lest if He flinch the eye that way Pounce […]...
23. Those who have been in the Grave the longest Those who have been in the Grave the longest Those who begin Today Equally perish from our Practise Death is the other way Foot of the Bold did least attempt it It is the White Exploit Once to achieve, annuls the power Once to communicate...
24. I know of people in the Grave I know of people in the Grave Who would be very glad To know the news I know tonight If they the chance had had. ‘Tis this expands the least event And swells the scantest deed My right to walk upon the Earth If they this moment had....
25. Diary of a Church Mouse Here among long-discarded cassocks, Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks, Here where the vicar never looks I nibble through old service books. Lean and alone I spend my days Behind this Church of England baize. I share my dark forgotten room With two oil-lamps and half a broom. The cleaner never bothers me, So here […]...
26. A Sea-Shore Grave. To M. J. L By Sidney and Clifford Lanier. O wish that’s vainer than the plash Of these wave-whimsies on the shore: “Give us a pearl to fill the gash God, let our dead friend live once more!” O wish that’s stronger than the stroke Of yelling wave and snapping levin; “God, lift us o’er the Last Day’s smoke, […]...
27. Dreams in the dusk DREAMS in the dusk, Only dreams closing the day And with the day’s close going back To the gray things, the dark things, The far, deep things of dreamland. Dreams, only dreams in the dusk, Only the old remembered pictures Of lost days when the day’s loss Wrote in tears the heart’s loss. Tears and […]...
28. The Smile on the Face of a Kouros This boy, of course, was dead, whatever that Might mean. And nobly dead. I think we should feel He was nobly dead. He fell in battle, perhaps, And this carved stone remembers him Not as he may have looked, but as if to define The naked virtue the stone describes as his. One foot is […]...
29. The Sun Has Set The sun has set, and the long grass now Waves dreamily in the evening wind; And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone In some warm nook a couch to find. In all the lonely landscape round I see no light and hear no sound, Except the wind that far away Come […]...
30. The Caverns of the Grave I've Seen The Caverns of the Grave I’ve seen, And these I show’d to England’s Queen. But now the Caves of Hell I view, Who shall I dare to show them to? What mighty soul i 362 n Beauty’s form Shall dauntless view the infernal storm? Egremont’s Countess can control The flames of Hell that round me […]...
31. Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave? “Ah, are you digging on my grave, My loved one? planting rue?” “No: yesterday he went to wed One of the brightest wealth has bred. ‘It cannot hurt her now,’ he said, ‘That I should not be true.'” “Then who is digging on my grave, My nearest dearest kin?” “Ah, no: they sit and think, […]...
32. At His Grave LEAVE me a little while alone, Here at his grave that still is strown With crumbling flower and wreath; The laughing rivulet leaps and falls, The thrush exults, the cuckoo calls, And he lies hush’d beneath. With myrtle cross and crown of rose, And every lowlier flower that blows, His new-made couch is dress’d; Primrose […]...
33. All That I Owe The Fellows Of The Grave All that I owe the fellows of the grave And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood, Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots. O all I owe is all the flesh inherits, My fathers’ loves that pull upon my nerves, My sisters tears that sing […]...
34. 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 […]...
35. At Wilfred Owen's Grave A week before the Armistice, you died. They did not keep your heart like Livingstone’s, Then plant your bones near Shakespeare’s. So you lie Between two privates, sacrificed like Christ To politics, your poetry unknown Except for that brief flurry’s: thirteen months With Gaukroger beside you in the trench, Dismembered, as you babbled, as the […]...
36. King Trisanku Viswamitra the Magician, By his spells and incantations, Up to Indra’s realms elysian Raised Trisanku, king of nations. Indra and the gods offended Hurled him downward, and descending In the air he hung suspended, With these equal powers contending. Thus by aspirations lifted, By misgivings downward driven, Human hearts are tossed and drifted Midway between […]...
37. At the grave of Anastasia Baluk – Cross Stone Anastasia And the sad snow falling A toiling sky And a long white line of hills A distant birthplace Short span and early dying Pain from what heaven Sorrowed your slope of life? Through valley’s throat Run double veins of water Feverish river Somnolent canal – the vein of the metal rail And the trundling […]...
38. Sumach and Birds IF you never came with a pigeon rainbow purple Shining in the six o’clock September dusk: If the red sumach on the autumn roads Never danced on the flame of your eyelashes: If the red-haws never burst in a million Crimson fingertwists of your heartcrying: If all this beauty of yours never crushed me Then […]...
39. Under the Harvest Moon Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers. Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With […]...
40. The Plowboy AFTER the last red sunset glimmer, Black on the line of a low hill rise, Formed into moving shadows, I saw A plowboy and two horses lined against the gray, Plowing in the dusk the last furrow. The turf had a gleam of brown, And smell of soil was in the air, And, cool and […]...