The Milkmaid

Related poetry:

1. Phyllis's Age How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task; For she has really two ages. Stiff in brocard, and pinch’d in stays, Her patches, paint, and jewels on; All day let envy view her face; And Phyllis is but twenty-one. Paint, patches, jewels laid aside, […]...
2. Milkmaid The girl’s far treble, muted to the heat, Calls like a fainting bird across the fields To where her flock lies panting for her voice, Their black horns buried deep in marigolds. They climb awake, like drowsy butterflies, And press their red flanks through the tall branched grass, And as they go their wandering tongues […]...
3. Introspection If you go deep Into the heart What do you find there? Fear, fear, Fear of the jaws of the rock, Fear of the teeth and splinters of iron that tear Flesh from the bone, and the moist Blood, running unfelt From the wound, and the hand Suddenly moist and red. If you go deep […]...
4. All My Past Life All my past life is mine no more, The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams given o’er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone. What ever is to come is not, How can it then be mine? The present moment’s all my lot, And that as fast as it is got, Phyllis, […]...
5. Love and Life All my past life is mine no more, The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams giv’n o’er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone. The time that is to come is not; How can it then be mine? The present moment’s all my lot; And that, as fast as it is got, […]...
6. By All Love's Soft, Yet Mighty Powers By all love’s soft, yet mighty powers, It is a thing unfit, That men should fuck in time of flowers, Or when the smock’s beshit. Fair nasty nymph, be clean and kind, And all my joys restore; By using paper still behind, And sponges for before. My spotless flames can ne’er decay, If after every […]...
7. The Womb Up from the evil day Of wattle and of woad, Along man’s weary way Dark Pain has been the goad. Back from the age of stone, Within his brutish brain, What pleasure he has known Is ease from Pain. Behold in Pain the force That haled Man from the Pit, And set him such a […]...
8. The Comet at Valbury or Yell'ham I It bends far over Yell’ham Plain, And we, from Yell’ham Height, Stand and regard its fiery train, So soon to swim from sight. II It will return long years hence, when As now its strange swift shine Will fall on Yell’ham; but not then On that sweet form of thine....
9. The Tear When Friendship or Love Our sympathies move; When Truth, in a glance, should appear, The lips may beguile, With a dimple or smile, But the test of affection’s a Tear: Too oft is a smile But the hypocrite’s wile, To mask detestation, or fear; Give me the soft sigh, Whilst the soultelling eye Is dimm’d, […]...
10. Train Train. Distant Train. Praise the glorious distance of Train. Dogs bark, reply to the mournful echo of Train’s whistle. Train looks back, keeps moving. Train carries its boxcars of secrets further and further away (and even further still) from those who profess to love Train, but who do not run after him. Eyes brimmed with […]...
11. Ultimatum I’m wearied of wearying love, my friend, Of worry and strain and doubt; Before we begin, let us view the end, And maybe I’ll do without. There’s never the pang that was worth the tear, And toss in the night I won’t- So either you do or you don’t, my dear, Either you do or […]...
12. To Phyllis And May O! fair, sweet Phyllis and sweet, fair May, Which of you carried my heart away? Who has my heart? I would like to know Which was the guilty one of the two, But I only know it was filched one day By fair, sweet Phyllis, or sweet, fair May....
13. Praise Life This country least, but every inhabited country Is clotted with human anguish. Remember that at your feasts. And this is no new thing but from time out of mind, No transient thing, but exactly Conterminous with human life. Praise life, it deserves praise, but the praise of life That forgets the pain is a pebble […]...
14. Horace to phyllis Come, Phyllis, I’ve a cask of wine That fairly reeks with precious juices, And in your tresses you shall twine The loveliest flowers this vale produces. My cottage wears a gracious smile, The altar, decked in floral glory, Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while As though it pined for honors gory. Hither our […]...
15. Power is a familiar growth Power is a familiar growth Not foreign not to be Beside us like a bland Abyss In every company Escape it there is but a chance When consciousness and clay Lean forward for a final glance Disprove that and you may...
16. The Last Evening And night and distant rumbling; now the army’s Carrier-train was moving out, to war. He looked up from the harpsichord, and as He went on playing, he looked across at her Almost as one might gaze into a mirror: So deeply was her every feature filled With his young features, which bore his pain and […]...
17. The Gardener XXVIII: Your Questioning Eyes Your questioning eyes are sad. They Seek to know my meaning as the moon Would fathom the sea. I have bared my life before your Eyes from end to end, with nothing Hidden or held back. That is why you Know me not. If it were only a gem, I could break It into a […]...
18. The To-Be-Forgotten I I heard a small sad sound, And stood awhile among the tombs around: “Wherefore, old friends,” said I, “are you distrest, Now, screened from life’s unrest?” II “O not at being here; But that our future second death is near; When, with the living, memory of us numbs, And blank oblivion comes! III “These, […]...
19. Escape is such a thankful Word Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape it is the Basket In which the Heart is caught When down some awful Battlement The rest of Life is dropt ‘Tis not to sight the savior It is to be the saved And that […]...
20. Song How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task; For she has really two ages. Stiff in brocard, and pinch’d in stays, Her patches, paint, and jewels on; All day let envy view her face; And Phyllis is but twenty-one. Paint, patches, jeweTHE merchant, to […]...
21. I Cannot Change, As Others Do I cannot change, as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain that sighs for you, For you alone was born. No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move A surer way I’ll try: And to revenge my slighted love, Will still love on, will still love on, and die. When, killed with grief, […]...
22. 103. To Ruin ALL hail! inexorable lord! At whose destruction-breathing word, The mightiest empires fall! Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, The ministers of grief and pain, A sullen welcome, all! With stern-resolv’d, despairing eye, I see each aimèd dart; For one has cut my dearest tie, And quivers in my heart. Then low’ring, and pouring, The storm no more […]...
23. Constancy I cannot change, as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain, that sighs for you For you alone was born. No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move A surer way I’ll try: And to revenge my slighted love, Will still love on, will still love on, and die. When, kill’d with grief, […]...
24. Gannets I am watching the white gannets Blaze down into the water With the power of blunt spears And a stunning accuracy Even though the sea is riled and boiling And gray with fog And the fish Are nowhere to be seen, They fall, they explode into the water Like white gloves, Then they vanish, Then […]...
25. It Is Not the Tear At This Moment Shed It is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o’er him, That can tell how beloved was the friend that’s fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. ‘Tis the tear, through many a long day wept, ‘Tis life’s whole path o’ershaded; ‘Tis the one […]...
26. THE SADNESS OF THE MOON THE Moon more indolently dreams to-night Than a fair woman on her couch at rest, Caressing, with a hand distraught and light, Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast. Upon her silken avalanche of down, Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh; And watches the white visions past her flown, Which rise like […]...
27. Now! Out of your whole life give but a moment! All of your life that has gone before, All to come after it, so you ignore, So you make perfect the present, condense, In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment, Thought and feeling and soul and sense, Merged in a moment which gives me at […]...
28. Birth-Dues Joy is a trick in the air; pleasure is merely contemptible, the dangled Carrot the ass follows to market or precipice; But limitary pain the rock under the tower and the hewn coping That takes thunder at the head of the turret- Terrible and real. Therefore a mindless dervish carving himself With knives will seem […]...
29. Bloom is Result to meet a Flower Bloom is Result to meet a Flower And casually glance Would scarcely cause one to suspect The minor Circumstance Assisting in the Bright Affair So intricately done Then offered as a Butterfly To the Meridian To pack the Bud oppose the Worm Obtain its right of Dew Adjust the Heat elude the Wind Escape the […]...
30. The Slums That should be obvious Of course it won’t Any fool knows that. Even in the winter. Consider for a moment. What? Consider what! They never have. Why now? Certainly it means nothing. It’s all a lie. What else could it be? That’s right. Sure. Any way you look at it. A silk hat. A fat […]...
31. Mutation They talk of short-lived pleasure be it so Pain dies as quickly; stern, hard-featured pain Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace. Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain, Makes the strong secret pangs of […]...
32. The Buried Train Tell me about the train that people say got buried By the avalanche was it snow? It was In Colorado, and no one saw it happen. There was smoke from the engine curling up Lightly through fir tops, and the engine sounds. There were all those people reading some From Thoreau, some from Henry Ward […]...
33. At The Railway Station, Upways ‘There is not much that I can do, For I’ve no money that’s quite my own!’ Spoke up the pitying child A little boy with a violin At the station before the train came in, ‘But I can play my fiddle to you, And a nice one ’tis, and good in tone!’ The man in […]...
34. Stanzas Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs In those dear eyes of thine, To me a keener suffering brings, Than if they flowed from mine. And do not droop! however drear The fate awaiting thee; For my sake combat pain and care, And cherish life for me! I do not fear thy love will […]...
35. Parting Address From Z. Z. To A. E O weep not, love! each tear that springs In those dear eyes of thine, To me a keener suffering brings Than if they flowed from mine. And do not droop! however drear The fate awaiting thee. For my sake, combat pain and care, And cherish life for me! I do not fear thy love will […]...
36. A Wasted Illness Through vaults of pain, Enribbed and wrought with groins of ghastliness, I passed, and garish spectres moved my brain To dire distress. And hammerings, And quakes, and shoots, and stifling hotness, blent With webby waxing things and waning things As on I went. “Where lies the end To this foul way?” I asked with weakening […]...
37. One Train May Hide Another (sign at a railroad crossing in Kenya) In a poem, one line may hide another line, As at a crossing, one train may hide another train. That is, if you are waiting to cross The tracks, wait to do it for one moment at Least after the first train is gone. And so when you […]...
38. The City's Love For one brief golden moment rare like wine, The gracious city swept across the line; Oblivious of the color of my skin, Forgetting that I was an alien guest, She bent to me, my hostile heart to win, Caught me in passion to her pillowy breast; The great, proud city, seized with a strange love, […]...
39. Prayer for Patience Lord, who hast suffer’d all for me, My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for Thee, Help me with patience to endure. The storm of loud repining hush; I would in humble silence mourn; Why should the unburnt, though burning bush, Be angry as the crackling thorn? Man should not faint […]...
40. Unless Who has not wanted, does not guess What plenty is. Who has not groped In depths of doubt and hopelessness, Has never truly hoped. Unless, sometimes, a shaow falls Upon his mirth, and veils his sight, And from the darkness drifts the light Of love at intervals. And that most dear of everything, I hold, […]...