Birds at Winter Nightfall (Triolet)

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1. Winter Nightfall The day begins to droop, Its course is done: But nothing tells the place Of the setting sun. The hazy darkness deepens, And up the lane You may hear, but cannot see, The homing wain. An engine pants and hums In the farm hard by: Its lowering smoke is lost In the lowering sky. The […]...
2. At Nightfall The dark is coming o’er the world, my playmate, And the fields where poplars stand are very still, All our groves of green delight have been invaded, There are voices quite unknown upon the hill; The wind has grown too weary for a comrade, It is keening in the rushes spent and low, Let us […]...
3. The Puzzled Game-Birds They are not those who used to feed us When we were young they cannot be – These shapes that now bereave and bleed us? They are not those who used to feed us, – For would they not fair terms concede us? – If hearts can house such treachery They are not those who […]...
4. 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...
5. Marine Snow At Mid-Depths And Down As you descend, slowly, falling faster past You this snow, Ghostly, some flakes bio- Luminescent (you plunge, And this lit snow doesn’t land At your feet but keeps falling below You): single-cell-plant chains, shreds Of zooplankton’s mucus food traps, Fish fecal pellets, radioactive fallouts, Sand grains, pollen….And inside These jagged falling islands Live more microlives, […]...
6. Winter Sleep When against earth a wooden heel Clicks as loud as stone on steel, When stone turns flour instead of flakes, And frost bakes clay as fire bakes, When the hard-bitten fields at last Crack like iron flawed in the cast, When the world is wicked and cross and old, I long to be quit of […]...
7. A Triolet Of all the sickly forms of verse, Commend me to the triolet. It makes bad writers somewhat worse: Of all the sickly forms of verse, That fall beneath a reader’s curse, It is the feeblest jingle yet. Of all the sickly forms of verse, Commend me to the triolet....
8. Eden in Winter [Supposed to be chanted to some rude instrument at a modern fireplace] Chant we the story now Tho’ in a house we sleep; Tho’ by a hearth of coals Vigil to-night we keep. Chant we the story now, Of the vague love we knew When I from out the sea Rose to the feet of […]...
9. "How Great My Grief" (Triolet) How great my grief, my joys how few, Since first it was my fate to know thee! – Have the slow years not brought to view How great my grief, my joys how few, Nor memory shaped old times anew, Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee How great my grief, my joys how few, Since […]...
10. A Winter Eden A winter garden in an alder swamp, Where conies now come out to sun and romp, As near a paradise as it can be And not melt snow or start a dormant tree. It lifts existence on a plane of snow One level higher than the earth below, One level nearer heaven overhead, And last […]...
11. Firelight and Nightfall The darkness steals the forms of all the queens, But oh, the palms of his two black hands are red, Inflamed with binding up the sheaves of dead Hours that were once all glory and all queens. And I remember all the sunny hours Of queens in hyacinth and skies of gold, And morning singing […]...
12. The Times Are Nightfall The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less; The times are winter, watch, a world undone: They waste, they wither worse; they as they run Or bring more or more blazon man’s distress. And I not help. Nor word now of success: All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one – Work which […]...
13. Nightfall In The City Of Hyderabad SEE how the speckled sky burns like a pigeon’s throat, Jewelled with embers of opal and peridote. See the white river that flashes and scintillates, Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates. Hark, from the minaret, how the muezzin’s call Floats like a battle-flag over the city wall. From trellised balconies, languid […]...
14. The Black Birds I Once, only once, I saw it clear, That Eden every human heart has dreamed A hundred times, but always far away! Ah, well do I remember how it seemed, Through the still atmosphere Of that enchanted day, To lie wide open to my weary feet: A little land of love and joy and rest, […]...
15. A Winter Daybreak Above Vence The night’s drifts Pile up below me and behind my back, Slide down the hill, rise again, and build Eerie little dunes on the roof of the house. In the valley below me, Miles between me and the town of St.-Jeannet, The road lamps glow. They are so cold, they might as well be dark. […]...
16. Those Winter Sundays Sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, Then with cracked hands that ached From labor in the weekday weather made Banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, And slowly I […]...
17. New England Mind My mind matches this understand land. Outdoors the pencilled tree, the wind-carved drift, Indoors the constant fire, the careful thrift Are facts that I accept and understand. I have brought in red berries and green boughs- Berries of black alder, boughs of pine. They and the sunlight on them, both are mine. I need no […]...
18. These are the Signs to Nature's Inns These are the Signs to Nature’s Inns Her invitation broad To Whosoever famishing To taste her mystic Bread These are the rites of Nature’s House The Hospitality That opens with an equal width To Beggar and to Bee For Sureties of her staunch Estate Her undecaying Cheer The Purple in the East is set And […]...
19. Winter-Time Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress. Close by the jolly fire I […]...
20. Doom is the House without the Door Doom is the House without the Door ‘Tis entered from the Sun And then the Ladder’s thrown away, Because Escape is done ‘Tis varied by the Dream Of what they do outside Where Squirrels play and Berries die And Hemlocks bow to God...
21. An Old Man's Winter Night All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms. What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand. What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to […]...
22. Little Birds Little Birds are dining Warily and well, Hid in mossy cell: Hid, I say, by waiters Gorgeous in their gaiters – I’ve a Tale to tell. Little Birds are feeding Justices with jam, Rich in frizzled ham: Rich, I say, in oysters Haunting shady cloisters – That is what I am. Little Birds are teaching […]...
23. What the Birds Said The birds against the April wind Flew northward, singing as they flew; They sang, “The land we leave behind Has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew.” “O wild-birds, flying from the South, What saw and heard ye, gazing down?” “We saw the mortar’s upturned mouth, The sickened camp, the blazing town! “Beneath the bivouac’s starry […]...
24. Three little birds in a row Three little birds in a row Sat musing. A man passed near that place. Then did the little birds nudge each other. They said, “He thinks he can sing.” They threw back their heads to laugh. With quaint countenances They regarded him. They were very curious, Those three little birds in a row....
25. The Birds He. Where thou dwellest, in what grove, Tell me Fair One, tell me Love; Where thou thy charming nest dost build, O thou pride of every field! She. Yonder stands a lonely tree, There I live and mourn for thee; Morning drinks my silent tear, And evening winds my sorrow bear. He. O thou summer’s […]...
26. Hamlet Micure In a lingering fever many visions come to you: I was in the little house again With its great yard of clover Running down to the board-fence, Shadowed by the oak tree, Where we children had our swing. Yet the little house was a manor hall Set in a lawn, and by the lawn was […]...
27. The Birds When Jesus Christ was four years old The angels brought Him toys of gold, Which no man ever had bought or sold. And yet with these He would not play. He made Him small fowl out of clay, And blessed them till they flew away: Tu creasti Domine Jesus Christ, Thou child so wise, Bless […]...
28. The Tree of Scarlet Berries The rain gullies the garden paths And tinkles on the broad sides of grass blades. A tree, at the end of my arm, is hazy with mist. Even so, I can see that it has red berries, A scarlet fruit, Filmed over with moisture. It seems as though the rain, Dripping from it, Should be […]...
29. St. Francis and the Birds Little sisters, the birds: We must praise God, you and I­ You, with songs that fill the sky, I, with halting words. All things tell His praise, Woods and waters thereof sing, Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, And the night and days. Yea, and cold and heat, And the sun and stars and moon, Sea with […]...
30. Sumach and Birds IF you never came with a pigeon rainbow purple Shining in the six o’clock September dusk: If the red sumach on the autumn roads Never danced on the flame of your eyelashes: If the red-haws never burst in a million Crimson fingertwists of your heartcrying: If all this beauty of yours never crushed me Then […]...
31. Cherries and birds cherries are so vulnerable Blinking their way from green To polished red in trees Guileless to stave off birds A murmur does its rounds And when the bright day comes And ripeness throws its coyness In the air a seething mesh Of wings and whetted beaks (knowing its cherry-right) Falls upon the fleshy fruit And […]...
32. Birds Of Passage Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky; And from the realms Of the shadowy elms A tide-like darkness overwhelm The fields that round us lie. But the night is fair, And everywhere A warm, soft vapor fills the air, And distant sounds seem near; And […]...
33. Dream Song 62: That dark brown rabbit, lightness in his ears That dark brown rabbit, lightness in his ears & underneath, gladdened our afternoon Munching a crab-‘. That rabbit was a fraud, like a black bull Prudent I admired in Zaragoza, who Certainly was brave as a demon But would not charge, being willing not to die. The rabbit’s case, a little different, Consisted in alert […]...
34. Birds of Prey Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day, As they go lumbering across the sky, Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high, Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray. They scare the singing birds of earth away As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly, Watching the toilers with malignant eye, From their exclusive haven birds of […]...
35. The White Birds I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee; And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness […]...
36. Autumn Birds The wild duck startles like a sudden thought, And heron slow as if it might be caught. The flopping crows on weary wings go by And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly. The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by, And darken like a clod the evening sky. The larks like thunder rise and […]...
37. Why Do Birds Sing? Let poets piece prismatic words, Give me the jewelled joy of birds! What ecstasy moves them to sing? Is it the lyric glee of Spring, The dewy rapture of the rose? Is it the worship born in those Who are of Nature’s self a part, The adoration of the heart? Is it the mating mood […]...
38. Birds Of A Feather Of bosom friends I’ve had but seven, Despite my years are ripe; I hope they’re now enjoying Heaven, Although they’re not the type; Nor, candidly, no more am I, Though overdue to die. For looking back I see that they Were weak and wasteful men; They loved a sultry jest alway, And women now and […]...
39. Further in Summer than the Birds Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass. No Ordinance be seen So gradual the Grace A pensive Custom it becomes Enlarging Loneliness. Antiquest felt at Noon When August burning low Arise this spectral Canticle Repose to typify Remit as yet no Grace No Furrow on […]...
40. What Birds Plunge Through Is Not The Intimate Space What birds plunge through is not the intimate space, In which you see all Forms intensified. (In the Open, denied, you would lose yourself, Would disappear into that vastness.) Space reaches from us and translates Things: To become the very essence of a tree, Throw inner space around it, from that space That lives in […]...