You Mustn't Show Weakness

Related poetry:

1. Not to discover weakness is Not to discover weakness is The Artifice of strength Impregnability inheres As much through Consciousness Of faith of others in itself As Pyramidal Nerve Behind the most unconscious clock What skilful Pointers move...
2. Loving In Truth, And Fain In Verse My Love To Show Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That She, dear She, might take some pleasure of my pain, -Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain – I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, Studying inventions fine, […]...
3. Sonnet 77: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; These vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear, And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show Of mouthèd graves will give thee memory, Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst […]...
4. Come show thy Durham Breast Come show thy Durham Breast To her who loves thee best, Delicious Robin And if it be not me At least within my Tree Do the avowing Thy Nuptial so minute Perhaps is more astute Than vaster suing For so to soar away Is our propensity The Day ensuing...
5. Some one prepared this mighty show Some one prepared this mighty show To which without a Ticket go The nations and the Days Displayed before the simplest Door That all may witness it and more, The pomp of summer Days....
6. Picture-Show And still they come and go: and this is all I know – That from the gloom I watch an endless picture-show, Where wild or listless faces flicker on their way, With glad or grievous hearts I’ll never understand Because Time spins so fast, and they’ve no time to stay Beyond the moment’s gesture of […]...
7. The Love a Life can show Below The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon And smites the Tinder in the Sun And hinders Gabriel’s Wing ‘Tis this in Music hints and sways And far abroad on Summer days Distils uncertain pain ‘Tis this enamors in […]...
8. On Going Back To The Street After Viewing An Art Show they talk down through The centuries to us, And this we need more and more, The statues and paintings In midnight age As we go along Holding dead hands. And we would say Rather than delude the knowing: A damn good show, But hardly enough for a horse to eat, And out on the sunshine […]...
9. Wert Thou but ill that I might show thee Wert Thou but ill that I might show thee How long a Day I could endure Though thine attention stop not on me Nor the least signal, Me assure Wert Thou but Stranger in ungracious country And Mine the Door Thou paused at, for a passing bounty No More Accused wert Thou and Myself Tribunal […]...
10. A Curse For A Nation I heard an angel speak last night, And he said ‘Write! Write a Nation’s curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea.’ I faltered, taking up the word: ‘Not so, my lord! If curses must be, choose another To send thy curse against my brother. ‘For I am bound by gratitude, By love […]...
11. Holy Sonnet XVIII: Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear. What! is it She, which on the other shore Goes richly painted? or which, robbed and tore, Laments and mourns in Germany and here? Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year? Is she self-truth and errs? now new, now outwore? Doth she, and […]...
12. 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, […]...
13. Margaret Fuller Slack I would have been as great as George Eliot But for an untoward fate. For look at the photograph of me made by Penniwit, Chin resting on hand, and deep-set eyes Gray, too, and far-searching. But there was the old, old problem: Should it be celibacy, matrimony or unchastity? Then John Slack, the rich druggist, […]...
14. The Show My soul looked down from a vague height with Death, As unremembering how I rose or why, And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth, Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe, And fitted with great pocks and scabs of plaques. Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire, There moved thin […]...
15. Show Biz I can’t have it And you can’t have it And we won’t Get it So don’t bet on it Or even think about It Just get out of bed Each morning Wash Shave Clothe Yourself And go out into It Because Outside of that All that’s left is Suicide and Madness So you just Can’t […]...
16. Broken Dreams There is grey in your hair. Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath When you are passing; But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing Because it was your prayer Recovered him upon the bed of death. For your sole sake – that all heart’s ache have known, And given to others all heart’s […]...
17. Some Advice To Those Who Will Serve Time In Prison If instead of being hanged by the neck you’re thrown inside for not giving up hope In the world, your country, your people, if you do ten or fifteen years apart from the time you have left, You won’t say, “Better I had swung from the end of a rope like a flag” You’ll put […]...
18. Rain After a Vaudeville Show The last pose flickered, failed. The screen’s dead white Glared in a sudden flooding of harsh light Stabbing the eyes; and as I stumbled out The curtain rose. A fat girl with a pout And legs like hams, began to sing “His Mother”. Gusts of bad air rose in a choking smother; Smoke, the wet […]...
19. Baby Vamps BABY vamps, is it harder work than it used to be? Are the new soda parlors worse than the old time saloons? Baby vamps, do you have jobs in the day time or is this all you do? do you come out only at night? In the winter at the skating rinks, in the summer […]...
20. Baby Charley He’s fast asleep. See how, O Wife, Night’s finger on the lip of life Bids whist the tongue, so prattle-rife, Of busy Baby Charley. One arm stretched backward round his head, Five little toes from out the bed Just showing, like five rosebuds red, So slumbers Baby Charley. Heaven-lights, I know, are beaming through Those […]...
21. To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, 1704. The Author then Forty LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous band That wear the fair Miss Mary’s fetters, Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their letters. My pen amongst the rest I took, Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their kindling fire, and look The power they have to be obey’d. […]...
22. John Wasson Oh! the dew-wet grass of the meadow in North Carolina Through which Rebecca followed me wailing, wailing, One child in her arms, and three that ran along wailing, Lengthening out the farewell to me off to the war with the British, And then the long, hard years down to the day of Yorktown. And then […]...
23. Troilus And Cressida Can life be a blessing, Or worth the possessing, Can life be a blessing if love were away? Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking, And though he torment us with cares all the day, Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking, There’s an hour at the last, there’s […]...
24. The Inventory Of Goodbye I have a pack of letters, I have a pack of memories. I could cut out the eyes of both. I could wear them like a patchwork apron. I could stick them in the washer, the drier, And maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt? Perhaps down the disposal I could grind […]...
25. This night is irredeemable This night is irredeemable. Where you are, it is still bright. At the gates of Jerusalem, A black sun is alight. The yellow sun is hurting, Sleep, baby, sleep. The Jews in the Temple’s burning Buried my mother deep. Without rabbi, without blessing, Over her ashes, there, The Jews in the Temple’s burning Chanted the […]...
26. The Pattern A women had given birth to an old man. He cried to have again been caught in the pattern. Oh well, he sighed as he took her breast to his mouth. The woman is happy to have her baby, even if it is old. Probably it got mislaid in the baby place, and when they […]...
27. Baby Lazarus When I got home I went out into the garden Liking it when the frost bit My old brown boots And dug a hole the size of a baby And buried the clothes I’d bought anyway, just in case. A week later I stood at my window And saw the ground move And swell the […]...
28. TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING The pages of thy book I read, And as I closed each one, My heart, responding, ever said, “Servant of God! well done!” Well done! Thy words are great and bold; At times they seem to me, Like Luther’s, in the days of old, Half-battles for the free. Go on, until this land revokes The […]...
29. To Delia: On Her Endeavouring To Conceal Her Grief At Parting Ah! wherefore should my weeping maid suppress Those gentle signs of undissembled woe? When from soft love proceeds the deep distress, Ah, why forbid the willing tears to flow? Since for my sake each dear translucent drop Breaks forth, best witness of thy truth sincere, My lips should drink the precious mixture up, And, ere […]...
30. The Owners Of The Little Box Line the inside of the little box With your precious skin And make yourself cozy Just as you would in your own home Make space voyages inside her Gather stars make time squirt its milk And sleep in the clouds Just don’t go around pretending You’re more important than her length And wiser than her […]...
31. I'm going to give up loving you i’m going to give up loving you I’m going to hate you instead Living’s so difficult difficult baby Hating’s like staying in bed You expect too much when i’m loving you I haven’t got it in me to give Love keeps on keeps on at me baby It makes a man frightened to live Hating’s […]...
32. To the Muse In your hidden memories There are fatal tidings of doom… A curse on sacred traditions, A desecration of happiness; And a power so alluring That I am ready to repeat the rumour That you have brought angels down from heaven, Enticing them with your beauty… And when you mock at faith, That pale, greyish-purple halo […]...
33. Cradle Song What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a little longer, Till thy little wings are stronger. So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say, In her bed at peep of […]...
34. The Source The sleep that flits on baby’s eyes-does anybody know from where It comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, In the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with Glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it Comes to kiss baby’s eyes. The smile that […]...
35. The Baby's Dance Dance little baby, dance up high, Never mind baby, mother is by; Crow and caper, caper and crow, There little baby, there you go; Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, Backwards and forwards, round and round; Dance little baby, and mother shall sing, With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding....
36. Etude Realiste A Baby’s feet, like sea-shells pink, Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel’s lips to kiss, we think, A baby’s feet. Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. No flower-bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet As shine […]...
37. Rain Has Fallen All the Day Rain has fallen all the day. O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way Of memories shall we depart. Come, my beloved, where I may Speak to your heart....
38. Praise (I) To write a verse or two is all the praise That I can raise: Mend my estate in any ways, Thou shalt have more. I go to Church; help me to wings, and I Will thither fly; Or, if I mount unto the sky, I will do more. Man is all weakness; there is no […]...
39. The End It is time for me to go, mother; I am going. When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out Your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, “Baby is not Here!”-mother, I am going. I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you and I shall […]...
40. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...