The Return

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1. Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...
2. 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 […]...
3. 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 […]...
4. The Irish Convict's Return Ye mountains and glens of Old Ireland, I’ve returned home to ye again; During my absence from ye My heart always felt great pain. Oh, how I long’d to see you dear Nora, And the old folks at home; And the beautiful Lakes o’ Killarney, Where we oft together did roam. Ye beautiful Lakes of […]...
5. 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 […]...
6. The Wreck of the Golfer It was the Bondi golfing man Drove off from the golf house tee, And he had taken his little daughter To bear him company. “Oh, Father, why do you swing the club And flourish it such a lot?” “You watch it fly o’er the fences high!” And he tried with a brassey shot. “Oh, Father, […]...
7. 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. […]...
8. The Wicked Postman Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, Mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all Wet, and you don’t mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother To come home from school. What has happened […]...
9. The Convict's Return Ye mountains and glens of fair Scotland I’m with ye once again, During my absence from ye my heart was like to break in twain; Oh! How I longed to see you and the old folks at home, And with my lovely Jeannie once more in the green woods to roam. Now since I’ve returned […]...
10. I heard a Fly buzz when I died I heard a Fly buzz when I died The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air Between the Heaves of Storm The Eyes around had wrung them dry And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset when the King Be witnessed in the Room I willed my Keepsakes Signed away […]...
11. Sonnet 28: How can I then return in happy plight How can I then return in happy plight That am debarred the benefit of rest? When day’s oppression is not eased by night, But day by night, and night by day oppressed? And each, though enemies to either’s reign, Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain […]...
12. 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 […]...
13. Sestina September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old grandmother Sits in the kitchen with the child Beside the Little Marvel Stove, Reading the jokes from the almanac, Laughing and talking to hide her tears. She thinks that her equinoctial tears And the rain that beats on the roof of the house […]...
14. 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, […]...
15. 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 […]...
16. 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 […]...
17. 1887 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns, The shires have seen it plain, From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. Look left, look right, the hills are bright, The dales are light between, Because ’tis fifty years to-night That God has saved the Queen. Now, when the flame they watch not […]...
18. The Return of Morgan and Fingal And there we were together again – Together again, we three: Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all, They had come for the night with me. The spirit of joy was in Morgan’s wrist, There were songs in Fingal’s throat; And secure outside, for the spray to drench, Was a tossed and empty boat. And there were […]...
19. Mothers Are a Special Gift Mothers are a special gift sent From God above, They bless us with their nurturing, And fill us with their love. They pick us up when we are down, And when we’re sad they know, They’re always there to lend a hand, And guide us as we go. And mothers are like special jewels That […]...
20. 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, […]...
21. The Fisherman Although I can see him still. The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies, It’s long since I began To call up to the eyes This wise and simple man. All day I’d looked in the face What I had hoped […]...
22. How many times these low feet staggered How many times these low feet staggered Only the soldered mouth can tell Try can you stir the awful rivet Try can you lift the hasps of steel! Stroke the cool forehead hot so often Lift if you care the listless hair Handle the adamantine fingers Never a thimble more shall wear Buzz the dull […]...
23. Domestic Scene The meal was o’er, the lamp was lit, The family sat in its glow; The Mother never ceased to knit, The Daughter never slacked to sew; The Father read his evening news, The Son was playing solitaire: If peace a happy home could choose I’m sure you’d swear that it was there. BUT The Mother: […]...
24. Victory All night the ways of Heaven were desolate, Long roads across a gleaming empty sky. Outcast and doomed and driven, you and I, Alone, serene beyond all love or hate, Terror or triumph, were content to wait, We, silent and all-knowing. Suddenly Swept through the heaven low-crouching from on high, One horseman, downward to the […]...
25. Gunner Did they send me away from my cat and my wife To a doctor who poked me and counted my teeth, To a line on a plain, to a stove in a tent? Did I nod in the flies of the schools? And the fighters rolled into the tracer like rabbits, The blood froze over […]...
26. The Argument Of His Book I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by […]...
27. 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 […]...
28. Return Return often and take me, Beloved sensation, return and take me When the memory of the body awakens, And an old desire runs again through the blood; When the lips and the skin remember, And the hands feel as if they touch again. Return often and take me at night, When the lips and the […]...
29. 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 […]...
30. The Return See, they return; ah, see the tentative Movements, and the slow feet, The trouble in the pace and the uncertain Wavering! See, they return, one, and by one, With fear, as half-awakened; As if the snow should hesitate And murmur in the wind, and half turn back; These were the “Wing’d-with-Awe,” Inviolable. Gods of the […]...
31. 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....
32. 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 […]...
33. The Return They turned him loose; he bowed his head, A felon, bent and grey. His face was even as the Dead, He had no word to say. He sought the home of his old love, To look on her once more; And where her roses breathed above, He cowered beside the door. She sat there in […]...
34. 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 […]...
35. In Tall Grass BEES and a honeycomb in the dried head of a horse in a pasture corner-a skull in the tall grass and a buzz and a buzz of the yellow honey-hunters. And I ask no better a winding sheet (over the earth and under the sun.) Let the bees go honey-hunting with yellow blur of wings […]...
36. 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 […]...
37. Consciousness Of Our Return Night’s grating of steel on stone and splash Of water crashing from the buckets Brings back that moment in a flash; The night burnt bright in limb’s caress And flesh yielding flesh in passions Blessed by sealed lips. Abandon bested grace in our pummelled bed Where we found a beauty in a closeness Of our […]...
38. The Trail Of No Return So now I take a bitter road Whereon no bourne I see, And wearily I lift the load That once I bore with glee. For me no more by sea or shore Adventure’s star shall burn, As I forsake wild ways to take The Trail of No Return. Such paths of peril I have trod: […]...
39. The Doctor Will Return The surgical mask, the rubber teat Are singed, give off an evil smell. You seem to weep more now that heat Spreads everywhere we look. It says here none of us is well. The warty spottings on the figurines Are nothing you would care to claim. You seem to weep more since the magazines Began […]...
40. 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 […]...