All Poems
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"Thy voice from Inmost Dreamland Calls"
© William Watson
Thy voice from inmost dreamland calls;
The wastes of sleep thou makest fair;
Bright o'er the ridge of darkness falls
The cataract of thy hair.
Friendships Black And White
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Romance is writ for me with many names
Of fair loved faces, each page a design
Blazoned and tinctured, this with saffron flames
Enshrining fancy, that with opaline
Paradise Lost Book 5: An Epitome
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Higgledy piggeldy
Archangel Rafael,
Speaking of Satan's re-
Bellion from God:
Ego Dominus Tuus
© William Butler Yeats
Hic. On the grey sand beside the shallow stream
Under your old wind-beaten tower, where still
Late Afternoon: The Onslaught Of Love
© Anthony Evan Hecht
It was lovely and she was in love.
They had taken a covered boat to one of the islands.
The city sounds were faint in the distance:
Rattling of carriages, tumult of voices,
Yelping of dogs on the decks of barges.
Prospects
© Anthony Evan Hecht
We have set out from here for the sublime
Pastures of summer shade and mountain stream;
I have no doubt we shall arrive on time.
The Organ-Boys Appeal
© William Makepeace Thackeray
O SIGNOR BRODERIP, you are a wickid ole man,
You wexis us little horgin-boys whenever you can:
How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seek
To pussicute us horgin-boys, you senguinary Beek?
Third Avenue In Sunlight
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Now he confides to a stranger, "I was first scout,
And kept my glimmers peeled till after dark.
Our outfit had as its sign a bloody knout,
We met behind the museum in Central Park.
Witness
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Against the enormous rocks of a rough coast
The ocean rams itself in pitched assault
And spastic rage to which there is no halt;
Foam-white brigades collapse; but the huge host
Chorus From Oedipus At Colonos
© Anthony Evan Hecht
What is unwisdom but the lusting after
Longevity: to be old and full of days!
For the vast and unremitting tide of years
Casts up to view more sorrowful things than joyful;
Judith Of Bethulia
© John Crowe Ransom
Beautiful as the flying legend of some leopard
She had not chosen yet her captain, nor Prince
Depositary to her flesh, and our defense;
A wandering beauty is a blade out of its scabbard.
You know how dangerous, gentlemen of threescore?
May you know it yet ten more.
Lot's Wife
© Anthony Evan Hecht
How simple the pleasures of those childhood days,
Simple but filled with exquisite satisfactions.
The iridescent labyrinth of the spider,
Its tethered tensor nest of polygons
On May
© James Thomson
Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colours dressed!
A Hill
© Anthony Evan Hecht
In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur,
I had a vision once - though you understand
It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,
And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,
In The City Of Slaughter (excerpt)
© Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Proceed thence to the ruins, the split walls reach,
Where wider grows the hollow, and greater grows the breach;
Pass over the shattered hearth, attain the broken wall
Whose burnt and barren brick, whose charred stones reveal
The open mouths of such wounds, that no mending
Shall ever mend, nor healing ever heal
The Transparent Man
© Anthony Evan Hecht
I'm mighty glad to see you, Mrs. Curtis,
And thank you very kindly for this visit--
Especially now when all the others here
Are having holiday visitors, and I feel
Why
© Bliss William Carman
FOR a name unknown,
Whose fame unblown
Sleeps in the hills
For ever and aye;
A Letter
© Anthony Evan Hecht
I have been wondering
What you are thinking about, and by now suppose
It is certainly not me.
But the crocus is up, and the lark, and the blundering
Blood knows what it knows.
It talks to itself all night, like a sliding moonlit sea.
