The Snapped Thread
Desire, first, by a natural miracle United bodies, united hearts, blazed beauty; Transcended bodies, transcended hearts. Two souls, now unalterably one In whole love always and for ever, Soar out of twilight, through upper
Free Verse
I now delight In spite Of the might And the right Of classic tradition, In writing And reciting Straight ahead, Without let or omission, Just any little rhyme In any little time That runs
Mr. Philosopher
Old Mr. Philosopher Comes for Ben and Claire, An ugly man, a tall man, With bright-red hair. The books that he’s written No one can read. “In fifty years they’ll understand: Now there’s no
Faun
Here down this very way, Here only yesterday King Faun went leaping. He sang, with careless shout Hurling his name about; He sang, with oaken stock His steps from rock to rock In safety
Call It a Good Marriage
Call it a good marriage – For no one ever questioned Her warmth, his masculinity, Their interlocking views; Except one stray graphologist Who frowned in speculation At her h’s and her s’s, His p’s
To Lucasta on Going to the War – For the Fourth Time
It doesn’t matter what’s the cause, What wrong they say we’re righting, A curse for treaties, bonds and laws, When we’re to do the fighting! And since we lads are proud and true, What
The Caterpillar
Under this loop of honeysuckle, A creeping, coloured caterpillar, I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray, I nibble it leaf by leaf away. Down beneath grow dandelions, Daisies, old-man’s-looking-glasses; Rooks flap croaking across the
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,
She Tells Her Love
She tells her love while half asleep, In the dark hours, With half-words whispered low: As Earth stirs in her winter sleep And put out grass and flowers Despite the snow, Despite the falling
Lost Love
His eyes are quickened so with grief, He can watch a grass or leaf Every instant grow; he can Clearly through a flint wall see, Or watch the startled spirit flee From the throat
The Travellers' Curse after Misdirection
(from the Welsh) May they stumble, stage by stage On an endless Pilgrimage Dawn and dusk, mile after mile At each and every step a stile At each and every step withal May they
Escape
August 6, 1916.-Officer previously reported died of wounds, now reported wounded: Graves, Captain R., Royal Welch Fusiliers.) …but I was dead, an hour or more. I woke when I’d already passed the door That
An Old Twenty-Third Man
“Is that the Three-and-Twentieth, Strabo mine, Marching below, and we still gulping wine?” From the sad magic of his fragrant cup The red-faced old centurion started up, Cursed, battered on the table. “No,” he
Letter to S. S. from Mametz Wood
I never dreamed we’d meet that day In our old haunts down Fricourt way, Plotting such marvellous journeys there For jolly old “Aprиs-la-guerre.” Well, when it’s over, first we’ll meet At Gweithdy Bach, my
The Beach
Louder than gulls the little children scream Whom fathers haul into the jovial foam; But others fearlessly rush in, breast high, Laughing the salty water from their mouthes Heroes of the nursery. The horny