Late Evening Song

Related poetry:

1. My Mother On An Evening In Late Summer 1 When the moon appears And a few wind-stricken barns stand out In the low-domed hills And shine with a light That is veiled and dust-filled And that floats upon the fields, My mother, with her hair in a bun, Her face in shadow, and the smoke From their cigarette coiling close To the faint […]...
2. Evening Song Full moon rising on the waters of my heart, Lakes and moon and fires, Cloine tires, Holding her lips apart. Promises of slumber leaving shore to charm the moon, Miracle made vesper-keeps, Cloine sleeps, And I’ll be sleeping soon. Cloine, curled like the sleepy waters whtere the moonwaves start, Radiant, resplendently she gleams, Cloine dreams, […]...
3. Covering Two Years This nothingness that feeds upon itself: Pencils that turn to water in the hand, Parts of a sentence, hanging in the air, Thoughts breaking in the mind like glass, Blank sheets of paper that reflect the world Whitened the world that I was silenced by. There were two years of that. Slowly, Whatever splits, dissevers, […]...
4. An Evening Song Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands, And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, How long they kiss in sight of all the lands. Ah! longer, longer, we. Now in the sea’s red vintage melts the sun, As Egypt’s pearl dissolved in rosy wine, And Cleopatra night drinks all. ‘Tis done, Love, […]...
5. Evening Song Of Senlin from Senlin: A Biography It is moonlight. Alone in the silence I ascend my stairs once more, While waves, remote in a pale blue starlight, Crash on a white sand shore. It is moonlight. The garden is silent. I stand in my room alone. Across my wall, from the far-off moon, A rain of fire […]...
6. Late Summer (ALCAICS) Confused, he found her lavishing feminine Gold upon clay, and found her inscrutable; And yet she smiled. Why, then, should horrors Be as they were, without end, her playthings? And why were dead years hungrily telling her Lies of the dead, who told them again to her? If now she knew, there might be […]...
7. Madman's Song Better to see your cheek grown hollow, Better to see your temple worn, Than to forget to follow, follow, After the sound of a silver horn. Better to bind your brow with willow And follow, follow until you die, Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow, Nor lift it up when the […]...
8. Late September Tang of fruitage in the air; Red boughs bursting everywhere; Shimmering of seeded grass; Hooded gentians all a’mass. Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind Tearing off the husky rind, Blowing feathered seeds to fall By the sun-baked, sheltering wall. Beech trees in a golden haze; Hardy sumachs all ablaze, Glowing through the silver birches. How […]...
9. Song of the Wise Children 1902 When the darkened Fifties dip to the North, And frost and the fog divide the air, And the day is dead at his breaking-forth, Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear! Far to Southward they wheel and glance, The million molten spears of morn The spears of our deliverance That shine on the house […]...
10. Song to the Evening Star 1 Star that bringest home the bee, 2 And sett’st the weary labourer free! 3 If any star shed peace, ’tis thou, 4 That send’st it from above, 5 Appearing when Heaven’s breath and brow 6 Are sweet as hers we love. 7 Come to the luxuriant skies 8 Whilst the landscape’s odours rise, 9 […]...
11. Song From An Evening's Love After the pangs of a desperate lover, When day and night I have sighed all in vain, Ah, what a pleasure it is to discover In her eyes pity, who causes my pain! When with unkindness our love at a stand is, And both have punished ourselves with the pain, Ah, what a pleasure the […]...
12. Evening Love Song Ornamental clouds Compose an evening love song; A road leaves evasively. The new moon begins A new chapter of our nights, Of those frail nights We stretch out and which mingle With these black horizontals....
13. Evening Song of the Thoughtful Child Shadow children, thin and small, Now the day is left behind, You are dancing on the wall, On the curtains, on the blind. On the ceiling, children, too, Peeping round the nursery door, Let me come and play with you, As we always played before. Let’s pretend that we have wings And can really truly […]...
14. The Too-Late Born We too, we too, descending once again The hills of our own land, we too have heard Far off – Ah, que ce cor a longue haleine – The horn of Roland in the passages of Spain, The first, the second blast, the failing third, And with the third turned back and climbed once more […]...
15. Late Autumn October – and the skies are cool and gray O’er stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf, Bare meadow, and the slowly falling leaf. The dignity of woods in rich decay Accords full well with this majestic grief That clothes our solemn purple hills to-day, Whose afternoon is hush’d, and wintry brief Only a robin sings […]...
16. Song VI: Cherish Life that Abideth Love is enough: cherish life that abideth, Lest ye die ere ye know him, and curse and misname him; For who knows in what ruin of all hope he hideth, On what wings of the terror of darkness he rideth? And what is the joy of man’s life that ye blame him For his bliss […]...
17. Tho' I get home how late how late Tho’ I get home how late how late So I get home – ’twill compensate Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me When Night descending dumb and dark They hear my unexpected knock Transporting must the moment be Brewed from decades of Agony! To think just how the fire will burn […]...
18. Late Light Rain filled the streets Once a year, rising almost To door and window sills, Battering walls and roofs Until it cleaned away the mess We’d made. My father told Me this, he told me it ran Downtown and spilled into The river, which in turn Emptied finally into the sea. He said this only once […]...
19. Evening ‘Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track, And gone to its nest is the wren, And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back, Clings to the bowed bents like a wen. The shepherd has made a rude mark with his foot Where his shadow reached when he first came, […]...
20. Written near a Port on a Dark Evening Huge vapours brood above the clifted shore, Night on the ocean settles dark and mute, Save where is heard the repercussive roar Of drowsy billows on the rugged foot Of rocks remote; or still more distant tone Of seamen in the anchored bark that tell The watch relieved; or one deep voice alone Singing the […]...
21. Late Ripeness Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year, I felt a door opening in me and I entered The clarity of early morning. One after another my former lives were departing, Like ships, together with their sorrow. And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas Assigned to my brush came closer, […]...
22. VI. Evening, as slow thy placid shades descend EVENING, as slow thy placid shades descend, Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still, The lonely battlement, and farthest hill And wood; I think of those that have no friend; Who now perhaps, by melancholy led, From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts, Retiring, wander ‘mid thy lonely haunts Unseen; and mark the […]...
23. March Evening Blue through the window burns the twilight; Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind. Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light, Wet, black branches are barred and entwined. Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot Dents into pools where a foot has been. Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not Of water, […]...
24. Lament Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun, Those crags in childhood that I used to climb? Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain, Hidden is the heart. A day of cloud, a lifetime falls between, Gone are the heather moors and the pure stream, Gone are the rocky places and the green, Hidden, […]...
25. The New Faces If you, that have grown old, were the first dead, Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of Time. Let the new faces play what tricks they will In the old rooms; night can outbalance day, Our shadows rove […]...
26. A Cradle Song The angels are stooping Above your bed; They weary of trooping With the whimpering dead. God’s laughing in Heaven To see you so good; The Sailing Seven Are gay with His mood. I sigh that kiss you, For I must own That I shall miss you When you have grown....
27. The Song Of The Strange Ascetic If I had been a Heathen, I’d have praised the purple vine, My slaves should dig the vineyards, And I would drink the wine. But Higgins is a Heathen, And his slaves grow lean and grey, That he may drink some tepid milk Exactly twice a day. If I had been a Heathen, I’d have […]...
28. Song's Eternity What is song’s eternity? Come and see. Can it noise and bustle be? Come and see. Praises sung or praises said Can it be? Wait awhile and these are dead – Sigh, sigh; Be they high or lowly bred They die. What is song’s eternity? Come and see. Melodies of earth and sky, Here they […]...
29. Evening Solace THE human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed;­ The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed. And days may pass in gay confusion, And nights in rosy riot fly, While, lost in Fame’s or Wealth’s illusion, The memory of the Past may die. But, there […]...
30. The Funeral of the Late Prince Henry of Battenberg Alas! Prince Henry of Battenberg is dead! And, I hope, has gone to heaven, its streets to tread, And to sing with God’s saints above, Where all is joy and peace and love. ‘Twas in the year of 1896, and on the 5th of February, Prince Henry was buried at Whippingham – a solemn sight […]...
31. 278. On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations HEAR, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;- If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede you tent it: A chield’s amang you takin notes, And, faith, he’ll prent it: If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight, O’ stature short, but genius […]...
32. Went up a year this evening! Went up a year this evening! I recollect it well! Amid no bells nor bravoes The bystanders will tell! Cheerful as to the village Tranquil as to repose Chastened as to the Chapel This humble Tourist rose! Did not talk of returning! Alluded to no time When, were the gales propitious We might look for […]...
33. An Evening A sunset’s mounded cloud; A diamond evening-star; Sad blue hills afar; Love in his shroud. Scarcely a tear to shed; Hardly a word to say; The end of a summer day; Sweet Love dead....
34. November Evening Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together, With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather, Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow, Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow. Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps […]...
35. On The Late Indecent Liberties Taken With The Remains Of Milton “Me too, perchance, in future days, The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. But I, or e’er that season come, Escaped from every care, Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, And sleep securely there.” So sang, in Roman tone and style, The youthful bard, ere long […]...
36. The Late Sir John Ogilvy Alas! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven, But I hope his soul is now in heaven; For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure, And, in particular, very kind unto the poor. He was a Christian gentleman in every degree, And, for many years, was an M. P. for Bonnie Dundee, And, while […]...
37. What Inn is this What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord? Where the maids? Behold, what curious rooms! No ruddy fires on the hearth No brimming Tankards flow Necromancer! Landlord! Who are these below?...
38. The Wilderness I came too late to the hills: they were swept bare Winters before I was born of song and story, Of spell or speech with power of oracle or invocation, The great ash long dead by a roofless house, its branches rotten, The voice of the crows an inarticulate cry, And from the wells and […]...
39. Song from Aella O SING unto my roundelay, O drop the briny tear with me; Dance no more at holyday, Like a running river be: My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. Black his cryne as the winter night, White his rode as the summer snow, Red his face as the morning light, […]...
40. Alone I am alone, in spite of love, In spite of all I take and give- In spite of all your tenderness, Sometimes I am not glad to live. I am alone, as though I stood On the highest peak of the tired gray world, About me only swirling snow, Above me, endless space unfurled; With […]...