The Indian Upon God

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1. Indian Weavers WEAVERS, weaving at break of day, Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . . Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild, We weave the robes of a new-born child. Weavers, weaving at fall of night, Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . . Like the plumes of a […]...
2. An Indian Summer Day on the Prarie (IN THE BEGINNING) THE sun is a huntress young, The sun is a red, red joy, The sun is an indian girl, Of the tribe of the Illinois. (MID-MORNING) The sun is a smouldering fire, That creeps through the high gray plain, And leaves not a bush of cloud To blossom with flowers of rain. […]...
3. The Indian Serenade I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me – who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet! The wandering airs they faint On the […]...
4. The Indian To His Love The island dreams under the dawn And great boughs drop tranquillity; The peahens dance on a smooth lawn, A parrot sways upon a tree, Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea. Here we will moor our lonely ship And wander ever with woven hands, Murmuring softly lip to lip, Along the grass, along […]...
5. Indian Summer Like a deep blue wave Of passion You shore into the room Where I sit waiting quietly, Open-booked. We have moved through days, Loss, pain To hold this moment, This picture postcard seascape Of gentle harbouring. You say ‘I knew you were here I could smell you’ And effortlessly I sway To seal my fate. […]...
6. 'Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe ‘Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe ‘Tis dimmer than a Lace No stature has it, like a Fog When you approach the place Nor any voice imply it here Or intimate it there A spirit how doth it accost What function hat the Air? This limitless Hyperbole Each one of us shall be ‘Tis Drama […]...
7. Indian Dancer EYES ravished with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate bosoms aflaming with fire Drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth heavens that glimmer around them in fountains of light; O wild and entrancing the strain of keen music that cleaveth the stars like a wail of desire, And beautiful dancers with houri-like faces bewitch the […]...
8. Music: An Ode WAS it light that spake from the darkness, Or music that shone from the word, When the night was enkindled with sound Of the sun or the first-born bird? Souls enthralled and entrammelled in bondage Of seasons that fall and rise, Bound fast round with the fetters of flesh, And blinded with light that dies, […]...
9. Indian Summer A soft veil dims the tender skies, And half conceals from pensive eyes The bronzing tokens of the fall; A calmness broods upon the hills, And summer’s parting dream distills A charm of silence over all. The stacks of corn, in brown array, Stand waiting through the placid day, Like tattered wigwams on the plain; […]...
10. The Two Spirits: An Allegory FIRST SPIRIT O thou, who plum’d with strong desire Wouldst float above the earth, beware! A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire Night is coming! Bright are the regions of the air, And among the winds and beams It were delight to wander there Night is coming! SECOND SPIRIT The deathless stars are bright above; […]...
11. Classical Indian Explanation: Music past the hippies Past Ravi Shankar Eons before When the first Asian snake Came alive Stiffened with sound Through some empty shell Some hollow wood Some emptiness The snake Was not so much charmed As listening intently To the accidental flute To that which he knew Must be female Its empty insides Calling him With […]...
12. My Indian Summer Here in the Autumn of my days My life is mellowed in a haze. Unpleasant sights are none to clear, Discordant sounds I hardly hear. Infirmities like buffers soft Sustain me tranquilly aloft. I’m deaf to duffers, blind to bores, Peace seems to percolate my pores. I fold my hands, keep quiet mind, In dogs […]...
13. The Wreck of the Indian Chief ‘Twas on the 8th of January 1881, That a terrific gale along the English Channel ran, And spread death and disaster in its train, Whereby the “Indian Chief” vessel was tossed on the raging main. She was driven ashore on the Goodwin Sands, And the good captain fearlessly issued hie commands, “Come, my men, try […]...
14. If this is "fading&quot If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red! If this is “sleep,” On such a night How proud to shut the eye! Good Evening, gentle Fellow men! Peacock presumes to die!...
15. A Precise Woman A precise woman with a short haircut brings order To my thoughts and my dresser drawers, Moves feelings around like furniture Into a new arrangement. A woman whose body is cinched at the waist and firmly divided Into upper and lower, With weather-forecast eyes Of shatterproof glass. Even her cries of passion follow a certain […]...
16. Song of the Indian Maid, from 'Endymion&#039 O SORROW! Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips? To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips? O Sorrow! Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye? To give the glow-worm light? Or, on a moonless night, To tinge, on […]...
17. The Spirit of Poetry There is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where’er the gentle south-wind blows; Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. With what a tender and impassioned voice It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, When […]...
18. Stream Of Life The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day Runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth In numberless blades of grass And breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. It is the same […]...
19. Mindful Every day I see or hear Something That more or less Kills me With delight, That leaves me Like a needle In the haystack Of light. It was what I was born for – To look, to listen, To lose myself Inside this soft world – To instruct myself Over and over In joy, And […]...
20. The Cat And The Moon The cat went here and there And the moon spun round like a top, And the nearest kin of the moon, The creeping cat, looked up. Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon, For, wander and wail as he would, The pure cold light in the sky Troubled his animal blood. Minnaloushe runs in the grass […]...
21. Two Lovers Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing. O budding time! O love’s blest prime! Two wedded from the portal stept: The bells made happy carolings, The air was soft as fanning wings, White petals on the pathway slept. […]...
22. Indian Summer In youth, it was a way I had To do my best to please, And change, with every passing lad, To suit his theories. But now I know the things I know, And do the things I do; And if you do not like me so, To hell, my love, with you!...
23. After All The brooding ghosts of Australian night have gone from the bush and town; My spirit revives in the morning breeze, Though it died when the sun went down; The river is high and the stream is strong, And the grass is green and tall, And I fain would think that this world of ours is […]...
24. My Indian In-laws I remember India: Palm trees, monkey families, Fresh lime juice in the streets, The sensual inundation Of sights and smells And excess in everything. I was exotic and believable there. I was walking through dirt In my sari, To temples of the deities Following the lead Of my Indian in-laws. I was scooping up fire […]...
25. Indian Boyhood What happened to the boy I was? Why did he run away? And leave me old and thinking, like There’d been no yesterday? What happened then? Was I that boy? Who laughed and swam in the bund* I there no going back? No recompense? Is there nothing? No refund?...
26. THE INDIAN GIPSY IN tattered robes that hoard a glittering trace Of bygone colours, broidered to the knee, Behold her, daughter of a wandering race, Tameless, with the bold falcon’s agile grace, And the lithe tiger’s sinuous majesty. With frugal skill her simple wants she tends, She folds her tawny heifers and her sheep On lonely meadows when […]...
27. The Happy Child I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick But not one like the child did pick. I heard the packhounds in green park But no dog like the child heard bark. I heard this day bird after bird But not one like the child has heard. A hundred butterflies saw I But not one like […]...
28. Indian Song SHADOWY-PETALLED, like the lotus, loom the mountains with their snows: Through the sapphire Soma rising such a flood of glory throws As when first in yellow splendour Brahma from the Lotus rose. High above the darkening mounds where fade the fairy lights of day, All the tiny planet folk are waving us from far away; […]...
29. The Indian Burying Ground In spite of all the learn’d have said; I still my old opinion keep, The posture, that we give the dead, Points out the soul’s eternal sleep. Not so the ancients of these lands The Indian, when from life releas’d Again is seated with his friends, And shares gain the joyous feast. His imag’d birds, […]...
30. An Indian Love Song He Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon Of thy glory and grace, Withhold not, O love, from the night Of my longing the joy of thy luminous face, Give me a spear of the scented keora Guarding thy pinioned curls, Or a silken thread from the fringes That trouble the dream of […]...
31. Indian Love Song She LIKE a serpent to the calling voice of flutes, Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love! Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above His jasmine-gardens and sirisha-bowers; And on ripe boughs of many-coloured fruits Bright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers. He Like the perfume in the petals of a rose, Hides […]...
32. Study of an Elevation, In Indian Ink Potiphar Gubbins, C. E. Stands at the top of the tree; And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led To the hoisting of Potiphar G. Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., Is seven years junior to Me; Each bridge that he makes either buckles or breaks, And his work is as rough as he. […]...
33. Inscription For A Fountain On A Heath This Sycamore, oft musical with bees, Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed May all its agйd boughs o’er-canopy The small round basin, which this jutting stone Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, Quietly as a sleeping infant’s breath, Send up cold waters to the traveller With soft and even pulse! […]...
34. The Tuft of Flowers I went to turn the grass once after one Who mowed it in the dew before the sun. The dew was gone that made his blade so keen Before I came to view the leveled scene. I looked for him behind an isle of trees; I listened for his whetstone on the breeze. But he […]...
35. April Rise If ever I saw blessing in the air I see it now in this still early day Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye. Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod Splutters with soapy green, and all the […]...
36. A Midnight Meditation HOW often have I said, “We may not grieve for the immortal dead.” And now, poor blenchèd heart, Thy ruddy hues all tremulous depart. Why be with fate at strife Because one passes on from death to life, Who may no more delay Rapt from our strange and pitiful dream away By one with ancient […]...
37. The Lark And I have seen, At dawn, The lark Spin out of the long grass And into the pink air – Its wings, Which are neither wide Nor overstrong, Fluttering – The pectorals Ploughing and flashing For nothing but altitude – And the song Bursting All the while From the red throat. And then he descends, […]...
38. Concord Hymn Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument, April 19th, 1836 By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined […]...
39. Our Hero “Flowers, only flowers bring me dainty posies, Blossoms for forgetfulness,” that was all he said; So we sacked our gardens, violets and roses, Lilies white and bluebells laid we on his bed. Soft his pale hands touched them, tenderly caressing; Soft into his tired eyes came a little light; Such a wistful love-look, gentle as […]...
40. When We Were Here Together when we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one Another. A bit of grass held between the teeth for a moment, bright hair on the Wind. What we were we did not know, nor even the grass or the flame of Hair turning to ash on the wind. But they […]...