Ariste

Related poetry:

1. From Citron-Bower From citron-bower be her bed, Cut from branch of tree a-flower, Fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, Cut the width of board and lathe, Carve the feet from myrtle-wood. Let the palings of her bed Be quince and box-wood overlaid With the scented bark of yew. That all the wood in […]...
2. Admire their style I’m reading fellow poets’ blogs today, A sustaining source of entertainment; I admire their style without exciting comment Or resorting to an unkind eye, simple though It is to sigh about uneasy affirmation. I hope when they read me (if they ever do) They rest as easy on my lack of finished form, The hazy, […]...
3. Sonnet XV: Now, Round My Favour'd Grot Now, round my favor’d grot let roses rise, To strew the bank where Phaon wakes from rest; O! happy buds! to kiss his burning breast, And die, beneath the lustre of his eyes! Now, let the timbrels echo to the skies, Now damsels sprinkel cassia on his vest, With od’rous wreaths of constant myrtle drest, […]...
4. I'm ceded I've stopped being Theirs I’m ceded I’ve stopped being Theirs The name They dropped upon my face With water, in the country church Is finished using, now, And They can put it with my Dolls, My childhood, and the string of spools, I’ve finished threading too Baptized, before, without the choice, But this time, consciously, of Grace Unto supremest […]...
5. Thought OF what I write from myself-As if that were not the resumé; Of Histories-As if such, however complete, were not less complete than the preceding poems; As if those shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as the preceding poems; As if here were not the amount of all nations, and of […]...
6. The Retreat this time has finished me. I feel like the German troops Whipped by snow and the communists Walking bent With newspapers stuffed into Worn boots. My plight is just as terrible. Maybe more so. Victory was so close Victory was there. As she stood before my mirror Younger and more beautiful than Any woman I […]...
7. Historion No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great At times pass athrough us, And we are melted into them, and are not Save reflexions of their souls. Thus am I Dante for a space and am One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and […]...
8. Going to Him! Happy letter! Going to Him! Happy letter! Tell Him Tell Him the page I didn’t write Tell Him I only said the Syntax And left the Verb and the pronoun out Tell Him just how the fingers hurried Then how they waded slow slow And then you wished you had eyes in your pages So you could […]...
9. Carbonara eyes Nicky said I couldn’t write, she’s got a charming Sense of social etiquette – given she’s a bitch (the canine sort, can’t spell for shit or even write A word) but then she has the most expressive eyes. So what she said was no surprise, she’d heard My lamentations, licked my hands, rested forepaws On […]...
10. Stanzas to Flora LET OTHERS wreaths of ROSES twine With scented leaves of EGLANTINE; Enamell’d buds and gaudy flow’rs, The pride of FLORA’S painted bow’rs; Such common charms shall ne’er be wove Around the brows of him I LOVE. Fair are their beauties for a day, But swiftly do they fade away; Each PINK sends forth its choicest […]...
11. When Katie walks, this simple pair accompany her side When Katie walks, this simple pair accompany her side, When Katie runs unwearied they follow on the road, When Katie kneels, their loving hands still clasp her pious knee Ah! Katie! Smile at Fortune, with two so knit to thee!...
12. The Faded Bouquet FAIR was this blushing ROSE of May, And fresh it hail’d morn’s breezy hour, When ev’ry spangled leaf look’d gay, Besprinkled with the twilight show’r; When to its mossy buds so sweet, The BUTTERFLY enamour’d flew, And hov’ring o’er the fragrant treat, Oft bath’d its silken wings in dew. SWEET was this PRIMROSE of the […]...
13. No Man can compass a Despair No Man can compass a Despair As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed Unconscious of the Width Unconscious that the Sun Be setting on His progress So accurate the One At estimating Pain Whose own has just begun His ignorance the Angel That pilot Him along...
14. RINALDO.* [This Cantata was written for Prince Frederick Of Gotha, and set to music by Winter, the Prince singing the part Of Rinaldo. See the Annalen.] (* See Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, Canto XVI.) CHORUS. To the strand! quick, mount the bark! If no favouring zephyrs blow, Ply the oar and nimbly row, And with zeal your […]...
15. Conjugal A man is bending his wife. He is bending her Around something that she has bent herself Around. She is around it, bent as he has bent Her. He is convincing her. It is all so private. He is bending her around the bedpost. No, he Is bending her around the tripod of his camera. […]...
16. Sonnet XIII: Bring, Brick to Deck My Brow Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls, A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair The costly band of studded gems prepare, Of sparkling crysolite or orient pearls: Love, o’er my head his canopy unfurls, His purple pinions fan the whisp’ring air; Mocking the golden sandal, rich and rare, Beneath my feet the […]...
17. Oversoul THE EAST was crowned with snow-cold bloom And hung with veils of pearly fleece: They died away into the gloom, Vistas of peace-and deeper peace. And earth and air and wave and fire In awe and breathless silence stood; For One who passed into their choir Linked them in mystic brotherhood. Twilight of amethyst, amid […]...
18. Willard Fluke My wife lost her health, And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds. Then that woman, whom the men Styled Cleopatra, came along. And we we married ones All broke our vows, myself among the rest. Years passed and one by one Death claimed them all in some hideous form, And I was borne along […]...
19. Mock Panegyric on a Young Friend In measured verse I’ll now rehearse The charms of lovely Anna: And, first, her mind is unconfined Like any vast savannah. Ontario’s lake may fitly speak Her fancy’s ample bound: Its circuit may, on strict survey Five hundred miles be found. Her wit descends on foes and friends Like famed Niagara’s fall; And travellers gaze […]...
20. Sonnet XXIII: To Aetna's Scorching Sands To AEtna’s scorching sands my Phaon flies! False Youth! can other charms attractive prove? Say, can Sicilian loves thy passions move, Play round thy heart, and fix thy fickle eyes, While in despair the Lesbian Sappho dies? Has Spring for thee a crown of poppies wove, Or dost thou languish in th’ Idalian grove, Whose […]...
21. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
22. Baby Sitter From torrid heat to frigid cold I’ve rovered land and sea; And now, with halting heart I hold My grandchild on my knee: Yet while I’ve eighty years all told, Of moons she has but three. She sleeps, that fragile miniature Of future maidenhood; She will be wonderful, I’m sure, As over her I brood; […]...
23. Sonnet XXXIX: Prepare Your Wreaths Prepare your wreaths, Aonian maids divine, To strew the tranquil bed where I shall sleep; In tears, the myrtle and the laurel steep, And let Erato’s hand the trophies twine. No parian marble, there, with labour’d line, Shall bid the wand’ring lover stay to weep; There holy silence shall her vigils keep. Save, when the […]...
24. Stanzas Written On The Road Between Florence And Pisa Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? ‘Tis but as a dead […]...
25. In My Craft Or Sullen Art In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of […]...
26. First Sight Lambs that learn to walk in snow When their bleating clouds the air Meet a vast unwelcome, know Nothing but a sunless glare. Newly stumbling to and fro All they find, outside the fold, Is a wretched width of cold. As they wait beside the ewe, Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies Hidden round them, […]...
27. Dead Men's Love There was a damned successful Poet; There was a Woman like the Sun. And they were dead. They did not know it. They did not know their time was done. They did not know his hymns Were silence; and her limbs, That had served Love so well, Dust, and a filthy smell. And so one […]...
28. Your Dad Did What? Where they have been, if they have been away, Or what they’ve done at home, if they have not – You make them write about the holiday. One writes My Dad did. What? Your Dad did what? That’s not a sentence. Never mind the bell. We stay behind until the work is done. You count […]...
29. 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 […]...
30. SAN MINIATO See, I have climbed the mountain side Up to this holy house of God, Where once that Angel-Painter trod Who saw the heavens opened wide, And throned upon the crescent moon The Virginal white Queen of Grace, – Mary! could I but see thy face Death could not come at all too soon. O crowned […]...
31. Robert Browning How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, In winding graveyard pathways underground, For Browning’s lineage! What if men have found Poor footmen or rich merchants on the roll Of his forbears? Did they beget his soul? Nay, for he came of ancestry renowned Through all the world, the poets laurel-crowned With wreaths from […]...
32. To Edward Jenkinson, Esq Fair Youth! who wish the Wars may cease, We own you better form’d for Peace. Nor Pallas you, nor Mars shou’d follow; Your Gods are Cupid and Apollo; Who give sweet Looks, and early Rhimes, Bespeaking Joys, and Halcyon Times. Your Face, which We, as yet, may praise, Calls for the Myrtle, and the Bays. […]...
33. Psalm 21 Our king is the care of Heaven. The king, O Lord, with songs of praise, Shall in thy strength rejoice; And, blest with thy salvation, raise To heav’n his cheerful voice. Thy sure defence through nations round Has spread his glorious name; And his successful actions crowned With majesty and fame. Then let the king […]...
34. I read my sentence steadily I read my sentence steadily Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause The Date, and manner, of the shame And then the Pious Form That “God have mercy” on the Soul The Jury voted Him I made my soul familiar with her extremity That at the […]...
35. What the Captain Said at the Point-to-Point I’ve had a good bump round; my little horse Refused the brook first time, Then jumped it prime; And ran out at the double, But of course There’s always trouble at a double: And then-I don’t know how It was-he turned it up At that big, hairy fence before the plough; And some young silly […]...
36. Hymn to Aristogeiton and Harmodius Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I’ll conceal Like those champions devoted and brave, When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, And to Athens deliverance gave. Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam In the joy breathing isles of the blest; Where the mighty of old have their home – Where Achilles and Diomed rest. In […]...
37. Kinship IN summer time, with high imaginings Of proud Crusaders and of Paynim kings, The children crowned themselves with famous names, And fought there, building up their merry games, Their mimic war, from old majestic things. There was no bitter hate then in the fight, For ancient law ruled victory and flight, And, victory and defeat […]...
38. 303. Song-The Gowden Locks of Anna YESTREEN I had a pint o’ wine, A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o’ mine The gowden locks of Anna. The hungry Jew in wilderness, Rejoicing o’er his manna, Was naething to my hinny bliss Upon the lips of Anna. Ye monarchs, take the East and West Frae Indus to […]...
39. Camomile Tea Outside the sky is light with stars; There’s a hollow roaring from the sea. And, alas! for the little almond flowers, The wind is shaking the almond tree. How little I thought, a year ago, In the horrible cottage upon the Lee That he and I should be sitting so And sipping a cup of […]...
40. Ode to Beauty EXULTING BEAUTY,­phantom of an hour, Whose magic spells enchain the heart, Ah! what avails thy fascinating pow’r, Thy thrilling smile, thy witching art? Thy lip, where balmy nectar glows; Thy cheek, where round the damask rose A thousand nameless Graces move, Thy mildly speaking azure eyes, Thy golden hair, where cunning Love In many a […]...