Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow
as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
That is not mine, but is a made place,
That is mine, it is so near to the heart,
An eternal pasture folded in all thought
So that there is a hall therein
That is a made place, created by light
Wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.
Wherefrom fall all architectures I am
I say are likenesses of the First Beloved
Whose flowers are flames lit to the Lady.
She it is Queen Under The Hill
Whose hosts are a disturbance of words within words
That is a field folded.
It is only a dream of the grass blowing
East against the source of the sun
In an hour before the sun’s going down
Whose secret we see in a children’s game
Of ring a round of roses told.
Often I am permitted to return to a meadow
As if it were a given property of the mind
That certain bounds hold against chaos,
That is a place of first permission,
Everlasting omen of what is.
Related poetry:
- HIS RETURN TO LONDON From the dull confines of the drooping west, To see the day spring from the pregnant east, Ravish’d in spirit, I come, nay more, I fly To thee, blest place of my nativity! Thus, thus with hallow’d foot I touch the ground, With thousand blessings by thy fortune crown’d. O fruitful Genius! that bestowest here […]...
- The Return Peace is declared, and I return To ‘Ackneystadt, but not the same; Things ‘ave transpired which made me learn The size and meanin’ of the game. I did no more than others did, I don’t know where the change began; I started as a average kid, I finished as a thinkin’ man. If England was […]...
- The Gentlemen In The Meadow Some gentlemen are floating in the meadow over The yellow grass. They seem to hover by those wonderful blue Little flowers that grow there by those rocks. Perhaps they have floated up from that nearby Graveyard? They drift a little when the wind blows. Butterflies flutter through them. . ....
- The Vernal Age WHERE the pheasant roosts at night, Lonely, drowsy, out of sight, Where the evening breezes sigh Solitary, there stray I. Close along the shaded stream, Source of many a youthful dream, Where branchy cedars dim the day There I muse, and there I stray. Yet, what can please amid this bower, That charmed the eye […]...
- My Mistress Commanding Me to Return Her Letters SO grieves th’ adventurous merchant, when he throws All the long toil’d-for treasure his ship stows Into the angry main, to save from wrack Himself and men, as I grieve to give back These letters : yet so powerful is your sway As if you bid me die, I must obey. Go then, blest papers, […]...
- Holy Sonnet III: O Might Those Sighs And Tears Return Again O might those sighs and tears return again Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent, That I might in this holy discontent Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain; In mine Idolatry what showers of rain Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent! That sufferance was my […]...
- Cromwell's Return An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Return From Ireland The forward youth that would appear Must now forsake his muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing, His numbers languishing. ‘Tis time to leave the books in dust, And oil the unusиd armour’s rust: Removing from the wall The corslet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could […]...
- The Return of Persephone Gliding through the still air, he made no sound; Wing-shod and deft, dropped almost at her feet, And searched the ghostly regiments and found The living eyes, the tremor of breath, the beat Of blood in all that bodiless underground. She left her majesty; she loosed the zone Of darkness and put by the rod […]...
- An Horatian Ode Upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland The forward youth that would appear Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing. ‘Tis time to leave the books in dust, And oil th’ unused armour’s rust, Removing from the wall The corslet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace, […]...
- Sympathy Therefore I dare reveal my private woe, The secret blots of my imperfect heart, Nor strive to shrink or swell mine own desert, Nor beautify nor hide. For this I know, That even as I am, thou also art. Thou past heroic forms unmoved shalt go, To pause and bide with me, to whisper low: […]...
- 403. The Soldier's Return: A Ballad WHEN wild war’s deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning, Wi’ mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning; I left the lines and tented field, Where lang I’d been a lodger, My humble knapsack a’ my wealth, A poor and honest sodger. A leal, light heart was in my breast, My […]...
- Forever I With you I shall ever be; Over land and sea My thoughts will companion you; With yours shall my laughter chime, And my step keep time In the dusk and dew With yours in blithesome rhyme; In all of your joy shall I rejoice, On my lips your sorrow shall find a voice, And […]...
- Daisies It is possible, I suppose that sometime We will learn everything There is to learn: what the world is, for example, And what it means. I think this as I am crossing From one field to another, in summer, and the Mockingbird is mocking me, as one who either Knows enough already or knows enough […]...
- Crematorium-return (to where the ashes of both my parents are strewn) I) Ok the pair of you lie still What’s disturbing me need pass No fretful hand over your peace This world’s vicissitudes are stale Fodder for you who feed the grass Some particles of your two dusts By moon’s wish accident or wind May have […]...
- I Shall Return I shall return again; I shall return To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes At golden noon the forest fires burn, Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies. I shall return to loiter by the streams That bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses, And realize once more my thousand dreams Of waters […]...
- Nightingales Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come, And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom Ye learn your song: Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there, Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air Bloom the year long! Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams: Our song is […]...
- The End Throughout the echoing chambers of my brain I hear your words in mournful cadence toll Like some slow passing-bell which warns the soul Of sundering darkness. Unrelenting, fain To batter down resistance, fall again Stroke after stroke, insistent diastole, The bitter blows of truth, until the whole Is hammered into fact made strangely plain. Where […]...
- An Ode to Master Endymion Porter, Upon His Brother's Death Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet ; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev’rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest As dead within the west ; Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east. Alas! for me, that I have lost E’en all almost ; […]...
- In A London Square Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane, East wind and frost are safely gone; With zephyr mild and balmy rain The summer comes serenly on; Earth, air, and sun and skies combine To promise all that’s kind and fair:- But thou, O human heart of mine, Be still, contain thyself, and bear. December days were […]...
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 95. By night we linger'd on the lawn By night we linger’d on the lawn, For underfoot the herb was dry; And genial warmth; and o’er the sky The silvery haze of summer drawn; And calm that let the tapers burn Unwavering: not a cricket chirr’d: The brook alone far-off was heard, And on the board the fluttering urn: And bats went round […]...
- I Dream'd in a Dream I DREAM’D in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth; I dream’d that was the new City of Friends; Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love-it led the rest; It was seen every hour in the actions of the men […]...
- The Return of the Children “They” Traffics and Discoveries Neither the harps nor the crowns amused, nor the cherubs’ dove-winged races Holding hands forlornly the Children wandered beneath the Dome, Plucking the splendid robes of the passers-by, and with pitiful! faces Begging what Princes and Powers refused: “Ah, please will you let us go home?” Over the jewelled floor, nigh […]...
- Audley Court ‘The Bull, the Fleece are cramm’d, and not a room For love or money. Let us picnic there At Audley Court.’ I spoke, while Audley feast Humm’d like a hive all round the narrow quay, To Francis, with a basket on his arm, To Francis just alighted from the boat, And breathing of the sea. […]...
- Song The Spring will come when the year turns, As if no Winter had been, But what shall I do with a locked heart That lets no new year in? The birds will go when the Fall goes, The leaves will fade in the field, But what shall I do with an old love Will neither […]...
- The Return of Albert You’ve ‘eard ‘ow young Albert Ramsbottom, In the Zoo up at Blackpool one year, With a stick and ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle, Gave a lion a poke in the ear. The name of the lion was Wallace, The poke in the ear made ‘im wild; And before you could say ‘Bob’s your Uncle,’ ‘E’d up and […]...
- Albert's Return You’ve ‘eard ‘ow young Albert Ramsbottom At the zoo up at Blackpool one year With a stick with an ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle Gave a lion a poke in the ear? The name of the lion was Wallace, The poke in the ear made ‘im wild And before you could say “Bob’s yer uncle” E’d upped […]...
- The Return All afternoon my father drove the country roads Between Detroit and Lansing. What he was looking for I never learned, no doubt because he never knew himself, Though he would grab any unfamiliar side road And follow where it led past fields of tall sweet corn In August or in winter those of frozen sheaves. […]...
- If Thou'lt Be Mine If thou’lt be mine, the treasures of air, Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet; Whatever in Fancy’s eye looks fair, Or in Hope’s sweet music sounds most sweet, Shall be ours if thou wilt be mine, love! Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, A voice divine shall talk in each stream; […]...
- The Moss Of His Skin “Young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next To their fathers, apparently as sacrifice to the goddesses Of the tribes…” Harold Feldman, “Children of the Desert” Psychoanalysis And Psychoanalytic Review, Fall 1958 It was only important To smile and hold still, To lie down beside him And to rest awhile, To be folded […]...
- A Week Later A week later, I said to a friend: I don’t Think I could ever write about it. Maybe in a year I could write something. There is something in me maybe someday To be written; now it is folded, and folded, And folded, like a note in school. And in my dream Someone was playing […]...
- Vitaп Lampada There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night Ten to make and the match to win A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame, But his Captain’s hand on […]...
- The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart; The secret thoughts he harbored against me I also perceived. His dog bit my foot, he showed me much injustice; I do not Bite him like a dog, I have bitten my own lip. Since I have penetrated into the secrets of individuals like […]...
- Elegy Let them bury your big eyes In the secret earth securely, Your thin fingers, and your fair, Soft, indefinite-colored hair,- All of these in some way, surely, From the secret earth shall rise; Not for these I sit and stare, Broken and bereft completely; Your young flesh that sat so neatly On your little bones […]...
- THE HUNTER'S EVEN-SONG THE plain with still and wand’ring feet, And gun full-charged, I tread, And hov’ring see thine image sweet, Thine image dear, o’er head. In gentle silence thou dost fare Through field and valley dear; But doth my fleeting image ne’er To thy mind’s eye appear? His image, who, by grief oppress’d, Roams through the world […]...
- What Shall I Do For the Land that Bred Me What shall I do for the land that bred me, Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?- Be under her banner and live for her honour: Under her banner I’ll live for her honour. CHORUS. Under her banner live for her honour. Not the pleasure, the pay, the plunder, But country and flag, […]...
- Mrs. Sibley The secret of the stars, gravitation. The secret of the earth, layers of rock. The secret of the soil, to receive seed. The secret of the seed, the germ. The secret of man, the sower. The secret of woman, the soil. My secret: Under a mound that you shall never find....
- Return This little house sows the degrees By which wood can return to trees. Weather has stained the shingles dark And indistinguishable from bark. Lichen that long ago adjourned Its lodging here has now returned. And if you look in through the door You see a sapling through the floor....
- Return A little too abstract, a little too wise, It is time for us to kiss the earth again, It is time to let the leaves rain from the skies, Let the rich life run to the roots again. I will go to the lovely Sur Rivers And dip my arms in them up to the […]...
- A Return WE turned back mad from the mystic mountains, All foamed with red and with elfin gold: Up from the heart of the twilight’s fountains The fires enchanted were starward rolled. We turned back mad: we thought of the morrow, The iron clang of the far-away town: We could not weep in our bitter sorrow, But […]...
- No Return I like divorce. I love to compose Letters of resignation; now and then I send one in and leave in a lemon- Hued Huff or a Snit with four on the floor. Do you like the scent of a hollyhock? To each his own. I love a burning bridge. I like to watch the small […]...