The Treasure

Related poetry:

1. Danny Deever “What are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade. “To turn you out, to turn you out”, the Colour-Sergeant said. “What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade. “I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch”, the Colour-Sergeant said. For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, The regiment’s in ‘ollow […]...
2. Autumn Whoever has no house now will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening And wander on the boulevards, up and down… – from Autumn Day, Rainer Maria Rilke Its stain is everywhere. The sharpening air Of late afternoon Is now the colour of tea. […]...
3. The Ringlet ‘Your ringlets, your ringlets, That look so golden-gay, If you will give me one, but one, To kiss it night and day, The never chilling touch of Time Will turn it silver-gray; And then shall I know it is all true gold To flame and sparkle and stream as of old. Till all the comets […]...
4. Song of Karen, the Dancing Child (O little white feet of mine) Out in the storm and the rain you fly; (Red, red shoes the colour of wine) Can the children hear my cry? (O little white feet of mine) Never a child in the whole great town; (Red, red shoes the colour of wine) Lights out and the blinds pulled […]...
5. Flower Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it Droop and drop into the dust. I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of Pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am Aware, and the time […]...
6. THE TREASURE-DIGGER ALL my weary days I pass’d Sick at heart and poor in purse. Poverty’s the greatest curse, Riches are the highest good! And to end my woes at last, Treasure-seeking forth I sped. “Thou shalt have my soul instead!” Thus I wrote, and with my blood. Ring round ring I forthwith drew, Wondrous flames collected […]...
7. There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a Temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest. For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the World. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I Cover her against any hurt. Using the pen of rivers and […]...
8. The Merchant, To Secure His Treasure The merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrowed name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure, But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre Upon Euphelia’s toilet lay – When Cloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I […]...
9. Again his voice is at the door Again his voice is at the door I feel the old Degree I hear him ask the servant For such an one as me I take a flower as I go My face to justify He never saw me in this life I might surprise his eye! I cross the Hall with mingled steps I […]...
10. THE BEAUTEOUS FLOWER SONG OF THE IMPRISONED COUNT. COUNT. I KNOW a flower of beauty rare, Ah, how I hold it dear! To seek it I would fain repair, Were I not prison’d here. My sorrow sore oppresses me, For when I was at liberty, I had it close beside me. Though from this castle’s walls so steep […]...
11. To Astronomers Prate not to me so much of suns and of nebulous bodies; Think ye Nature but great, in that she gives thee to count? Though your object may be the sublimest that space holds within it, Yet, my good friends, the sublime dwells not in the regions of space....
12. Again The children are back, the children are back- They’ve come to take refuge, exhale and unpack; The marriage has faltered, the job has gone bad, Come open the door for them, Mother and Dad. The city apartment is leaky and cold, The landlord lascivious, greedy and old- The mattress is lumpy, the oven’s encrusted, The […]...
13. Good Friday O my chief good, How shall I measure out thy blood? How shall I count what thee befell, And each grief tell? Shall I thy woes Number according to thy foes? Or, since one star show’d thy first breath, Shall all thy death? Or shall each leaf, Which falls in Autumn, score a grief? Or […]...
14. Dulcis Memoria Long, long ago I heard a little song, (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) So lowly, slowly wound the tune along, That far into my heart it found the way: A melody consoling and endearing; And still, in silent hours, I’m often hearing The small, sweet song that does not die away. Long, long […]...
15. Comrades Oh bear with me, for I am old And count on fingers five The years this pencil I may hold And hope to be alive; How sadly soon our dreaming ends! How brief the sunset glow! Be kindly to the old, my friends: You’ll miss them when they go. I’ve seen so many disappear That […]...
16. The Night – Wind In summer’s mellow midnight, A cloudless moon shone through Our open parlour window, And rose-trees wet with dew. I sat in silent musing; The soft wind waved my hair; It told me heaven was glorious, And sleeping earth was fair. I needed not its breathing To bring such thoughts to me; But still it whispered […]...
17. If If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being […]...
18. The Evil Eye It comes oozing Out of flowers at night, It comes out of the rain If a snake looks skyward, It comes out of chairs and tables If you don’t point at them and say their names. It comes into your mouth while you sleep, Pressing in like a washcloth. Beware. Beware. If you meet a […]...
19. On The Boulevard Oh, it’s pleasant sitting here, Seeing all the people pass; You beside your bock of beer, I behind my demi-tasse. Chatting of no matter what. You the Mummer, I the Bard; Oh, it’s jolly, is it not? Sitting on the Boulevard. More amusing than a book, If a chap has eyes to see; For, no […]...
20. 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 […]...
21. 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 […]...
22. Buddha at Kamakura 1892 “And there is a Japanese idol at Kamakura” Oye who treated the Narrow Way By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day, Be gentle when “the heathen” pray To Buddha at Kamakura! To him the Way, the Law, apart, Whom Maya held beneath her heart, Ananda’s Lord, the Bodhisat, The Buddha of Kamakura. For though he neither […]...
23. For M. W There is no transcience of twilight in The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpled face, No flicker of a slender flame in space, In crucibles, fragility crystalline. There is no fragrance of the jessamine About you, no pathos of some old place At dusk, that crumbles like moth-eaten lace Beneath the touch. Nor has there ever […]...
24. TO BELINDA [This song was also written for Lily. Goethe Mentions, at the end of his Autobiography, that he overheard her Singing it one evening after he had taken his last farewell of her.] WHEREFORE drag me to yon glittering eddy, With resistless might? Was I, then, not truly blest already In the silent night? In my […]...
25. Barter Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things; Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children’s faces looking up, Holding wonder like a cup. Life has loveliness to sell; Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms […]...
26. Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward Child, the current of your breath is six days long. You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed; Lie, fisted like a snail, so small and strong At my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed With love. At first hunger is not wrong. The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded Down […]...
27. Count That Day Lost If you sit down at set of sun And count the acts that you have done, And, counting, find One self-denying deed, one word That eased the heart of him who heard, One glance most kind That fell like sunshine where it went Then you may count that day well spent. But if, through all […]...
28. Benediction Blest in death and life beyond man’s guessing Little children live and die, possest Still of grace that keeps them past expressing Blest. Each least chirp that rings from every nest, Each least touch of flower-soft fingers pressing Aught that yearns and trembles to be prest, Each least glance, gives gifts of grace, redressing Grief’s […]...
29. Jangling Memory Heavens above! here’s an old tie of your Sea-green dragons stamped on a golden ground. Ha! Ha! Ha! What children we were in those days. Do you love me enough to wear it now? Have you the courage of your pristine glories? Ha! Ha! Ha! You laugh and shrug your shoulders. Those were the days […]...
30. Golden Days Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain To make of as I may, That done, I shall not see again Until the Judgment Day. Ah, could I, could I backward turn The pages of that […]...
31. A Noiseless Patient Spider A NOISELESS, patient spider, I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them-ever tirelessly speeding them. And you, O my Soul, where you stand, Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, […]...
32. The Man In The Bowler Hat I am the unnoticed, the unnoticable man: The man who sat on your right in the morning train: The man who looked through like a windowpane: The man who was the colour of the carriage, the colour of the mounting Morning pipe smoke. I am the man too busy with a living to live, Too […]...
33. The Gardener XLVI: You Left Me You left me and went on your way. I thought I should mourn for you And set your solitary image in my Heart wrought in a golden song. But ah, my evil fortune, time is Short. Youth wanes year after year; the Spring days are fugitive; the frail Flowers die for nothing, and the wise […]...
34. An Indian Love Song He Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon Of thy glory and grace, Withhold not, O love, from the night Of my longing the joy of thy luminous face, Give me a spear of the scented keora Guarding thy pinioned curls, Or a silken thread from the fringes That trouble the dream of […]...
35. Pleasure XXIV Then a hermit, who visited the city once a year, came forth and said, “Speak to us of Pleasure.” And he answered, saying: Pleasure is a freedom song, But it is not freedom. It is the blossoming of your desires, But it is not their fruit. It is a depth calling unto a height, But […]...
36. The Beautiful Sun Beautiful Sun! with thy golden rays, To God, the wise Creator, be all praise; For thou nourisheth all the creation, Wherever there is found to be animation. Without thy heat we could not live, Then praise to God we ought to give; For thou makest the fruits and provisions to grow, To nourish all creatures […]...
37. Stupidity Dearest, forgive that with my clumsy touch I broke and bruised your rose. I hardly could suppose It were a thing so fragile that my clutch Could kill it, thus. It stood so proudly up upon its stem, I knew no thought of fear, And coming very near Fell, overbalanced, to your garment’s hem, Tearing […]...
38. Flower God, God Of The Spring FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful, Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles, Here I wander in April Cold, grey-headed; and still to my Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer, Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant; Spring, flower-planter in meadows, Child-conductor in willowy Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies […]...
39. A Calendar of Sonnets: June O month whose promise and fulfilment blend, And burst in one! it seems the earth can store In all her roomy house no treasure more; Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end. And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before It hath made ready at […]...
40. Death and the Lady TURN in, my lord, she said ; As it were the Father of Sin I have hated the Father of the Dead, The slayer of my kin ; By the Father of the Living led, Turn in, my lord, turn in. We were foes of old ; thy touch was cold, But mine is warm […]...