In Paths Untrodden

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1. Paths I shall tread, another year, Ways I walked with Grief, Past the dry, ungarnered ear And the brittle leaf. I shall stand, a year apart, Wondering, and shy, Thinking, “Here she broke her heart; Here she pled to die.” I shall hear the pheasants call, And the raucous geese; Down these ways, another Fall, I […]...
2. A Song 1 COME, I will make the continent indissoluble; I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon; I will make divine magnetic lands, With the love of comrades, With the life-long love of comrades. 2 I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of America, and along the […]...
3. Fast Anchor'd, Eternal, O Love FAST-ANCHOR’D, eternal, O love! O woman I love! O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you! -Then separate, as disembodied, or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation; I ascend-I float in the regions of your love, O man, O sharer of my roving life....
4. Primeval my Love for the Woman I Love PRIMEVAL my love for the woman I love, O bride! O wife! more resistless, more enduring than I can tell, the thought of you! Then separate, as disembodied, the purest born, The ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation, I ascend-I float in the regions of your love, O man, O sharer of my roving […]...
5. The Two Paths Of Virtue Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward; If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie. ‘Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by patience. Blest is the man whose kind fate guides him along upon both!...
6. Give me the Splendid, Silent Sun 1 GIVE me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling; Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard; Give me a field where the unmow’d grass grows; Give me an arbor, give me the trellis’d grape; Give me fresh corn and wheat-give me serene-moving animals, teaching content; Give me nights […]...
7. Milton I pace the sounding sea-beach and behold How the voluminous billows roll and run, Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun Shines through their sheeted emerald far unrolled, And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by fold All its loose-flowing garments into one, Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun Pale reach of sands, and […]...
8. A Rebus, By I. B I. A BIRD delicious to the taste, On which an army once did feast, Sent by an hand unseen; A creature of the horned race, Which Britain’s royal standards grace; A gem of vivid green; II. A town of gaiety and sport, Where beaux and beauteous nymphs resort, And gallantry doth reign; A Dardan hero […]...
9. A Calendar of Sonnets: March Month which the warring ancients strangely styled The month of war, as if in their fierce ways Were any month of peace! in thy rough days I find no war in Nature, though the wild Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled As feet of writhing trees. The violets raise Their heads without […]...
10. To Foreign Lands I HEARD that you ask’d for something to prove this puzzle, the New World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy; Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you wanted....
11. Full of Life, Now FULL of life, now, compact, visible, I, forty years old the Eighty-third Year of The States, To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence, To you, yet unborn, these, seeking you. When you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible; Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking […]...
12. In the Park You have forty-nine days between Death and rebirth if you’re a Buddhist. Even the smallest soul could swim The English Channel in that time Or climb, like a ten-month-old child, Every step of the Washington Monument To travel across, up, down, over or through you won’t know till you get there which to do. He […]...
13. Gacela of the Dead Child Each afternoon in Granada, Each afternoon, a child dies. Each afternoon the water sits down And chats with its companions. The dead wear mossy wings. The cloudy wind and the clear wind Are two pheasants in flight through the towers, And the day is a wounded boy. Not a flicker of lark was left in […]...
14. The Morning Walk When Anne and I go out a walk, We hold each other’s hand and talk Of all the things we mean to do When Anne and I are forty-two. And when we’ve thought about a thing, Like bowling hoops or bicycling, Or falling down on Anne’s balloon, We do it in the afternoon....
15. At the sixty-ninth station (after hiroshige – stations of oi) Here at the sixty-ninth station Of the gregokaido road I have a sense of completion That is not completed yet The long journey to this moment Has many disparate paths Fragments of people within me Have stuttered their broken mantras What a bowl of uneasy pieces Litters the well […]...
16. Patterns I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk down the patterned garden-paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The garden paths. My dress is richly figured, And the […]...
17. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking 1 OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare-headed, barefoot, Down from the shower’d halo, Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if […]...
18. So Long 1 TO conclude-I announce what comes after me; I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then, for the present, depart. I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all, I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference to consummations. When America does what was promis’d, When there are plentiful athletic bards, inland […]...
19. Not Heat Flames up and Consumes NOT heat flames up and consumes, Not sea-waves hurry in and out, Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe summer, bears lightly along white down-balls of myriads of seeds, Wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may; Not these-O none of these, more than the flames of me, consuming, burning for […]...
20. Down Stream Comrades, up! Let us row down stream in this first rare dawnlight, While far in the clear north-west the late moon whitens and wanes; Before us the sun will rise, deep-purpling headland and islet, It is well to meet him thus, with the life astir in our veins! The wakening birds will sing for us […]...
21. Ashes of Soldiers ASHES of soldiers! As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought, Lo! the war resumes-again to my sense your shapes, And again the advance of armies. Noiseless as mists and vapors, From their graves in the trenches ascending, From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, From every point of the compass, out of […]...
22. Scented Herbage of My Breast SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing up above me, above death, Perennial roots, tall leaves-O the winter shall not freeze you, delicate leaves, Every year shall you bloom again-out from where you retired, you shall emerge again; O I do not […]...
23. Autobiography I was born in 1902 I never once went back to my birthplace I don’t like to turn back At three I served as a pasha’s grandson in Aleppo At nineteen as a student at Moscow Communist University At forty-nine I was back in Moscow as the Tcheka Party’s guest And I’ve been a poet […]...
24. Last Will And Testament Comrades, if I don’t live to see the day I mean, if I die before freedom comes Take me away And bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia. The worker Osman whom Hassan Bey ordered shot Can lie on one side of me, and on the other side The martyr Aysha, who gave birth […]...
25. On My Birthday, July 21 I, MY dear, was born to-day So all my jolly comrades say: They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth, And ask to celebrate my birth: Little, alas! my comrades know That I was born to pain and woe; To thy denial, to thy scorn, Better I had ne’er been born: I wish to die, even […]...
26. The During Months Like summer in some countries and like rain In mine, for nuns like God, for drunks like beer, Like food for chefs, for invalids like pain, You’ve occupied a large part of the year. The during months to those before and since Would make a ratio of ten to two, Counting the ones spent trying […]...
27. The Philanderer Oh, have you forgotten those afternoons With riot of roses and amber skies, When we thrilled to the joy of a million Junes, And I sought for your soul in the deeps of your eyes? I would love you, I promised, forever and aye, And I meant it too; yet, oh, isn’t it odd? When […]...
28. In The Slight Ripple, The Mind Perceives The Heart In the slight ripple, the fishes dart Like fingers, centrifugal, like wishes Wanton. And pleasures rise as the eyes fall Through the lucid water. The small pebble, The clear clay bottom, the white shell Are apparent, though superficial. Who would ask more of the August afternoon? Who would dig mines and follow shadows? “I would,” […]...
29. One Song, America, Before I Go ONE song, America, before I go, I’d sing, o’er all the rest, with trumpet sound, For thee—the Future. I’d sow a seed for thee of endless Nationality; I’d fashion thy Ensemble, including Body and Soul; I’d show, away ahead, thy real Union, and how it may be accomplish’d. (The paths to the House I seek […]...
30. A Song Lord, when the sense of thy sweet grace Sends up my soul to seek thy face. Thy blessed eyes breed such desire, I dy in love’s delicious Fire. O love, I am thy Sacrifice. Be still triumphant, blessed eyes. Still shine on me, fair suns! that I Still may behold, though still I dy. Though […]...
31. NEW YEAR POEM For Jeremy Reed Rejection doesn’t lead me to dejection But to inspiration via irritation Or at least to a bit of naughty new year wit- Oh isn’t it a shame my poetry’s not tame Like Rupert’s or Jay’s – I never could Get into their STRIDE just to much pride To lick the arses of […]...
32. On His Eightieth Birthday To my ninth decade I have tottered on, And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady; She, who once led me where she would, is gone, So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready....
33. A Calendar of Sonnets: May O Month when they who love must love and wed! Were one to go to worlds where May is naught, And seek to tell the memories he had brought From earth of thee, what were most fitly said? I know not if the rosy showers shed From apple-boughs, or if the soft green wrought In […]...
34. I Shall Forget You Presently IV I SHALL forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year, Ere I forget, or die, or move away, And we are done forever; by and by I shall forget you, as I said, but now, If you entreat me with […]...
35. Joy, Shipmate, Joy! JOY! shipmate-joy! (Pleas’d to my Soul at death I cry;) Our life is closed-our life begins; The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last-she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore; Joy! shipmate-joy!...
36. The Choice Life, come to me in no pale guise and ashen, I care not for thee in such placid fashion! I would share widely, Life, In all thy joy and strife, Would sound thy deeps and reach thy highest passion, With thy delight and with thy suffering rife. Whether I bide with thee in cot or […]...
37. Clothes Put on a clean shirt Before you die, some Russian said. Nothing with drool, please, No egg spots, no blood, No sweat, no sperm. You want me clean, God, So I’ll try to comply. The hat I was married in, Will it do? White, broad, fake flowers in a tiny array. It’s old-fashioned, as stylish […]...
38. To undertake is to achieve To undertake is to achieve Be Undertaking blent With fortitude of obstacle And toward encouragement That fine Suspicion, Natures must Permitted to revere Departed Standards and the few Criterion Sources here...
39. The Martyr Poets did not tell The Martyr Poets did not tell But wrought their Pang in syllable That when their mortal name be numb Their mortal fate encourage Some The Martyr Painters never spoke Bequeathing rather to their Work That when their conscious fingers cease Some seek in Art the Art of Peace...
40. To One Hated Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths parted asunder, Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate, I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond and faithful, Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great. Each cold word of […]...