All Poems

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New Love, New Life

© Amy Levy

She, who so long has lain
Stone-stiff with folded wings,
Within my heart again
The brown bird wakes and sings.

The Bellman

© Muriel Stuart

BRING out your dead before you reap
From lips beloved infection dread;
Above such brows ye dare not weep!
Bring out your dead

August

© Madison Julius Cawein

I

Clad on with glowing beauty and the peace,

Even if one had told me this,
"A poison lurks within your kiss,
Gall that shall turn to night his day:"
Thereon I straight had turned away--
Ay, tho' my heart had crack'd with pain--
And never kiss'd your lips again.

Eclogue IV

© Virgil

POLLIO

Muses of Sicily, essay we now

London Poets

© Amy Levy

The sorrow of their souls to them did seem
As real as mine to me, as permanent.
To-day, it is the shadow of a dream,
The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.
So shall another soothe his woe supreme--
"No more he comes, who this way came and went."

London in July

© Amy Levy

What ails my senses thus to cheat?
What is it ails the place,
That all the people in the street
Should wear one woman's face?

Moreton Bay

© Anonymous

One Sunday morning, as I went walking,

By Brisbane waters I chanced to stray.

Lohengrin

© Amy Levy

God, we have lost Thee with much questioning.
In vain we seek Thy trace by sea and land,
And in Thine empty fanes where no men sing.
What shall we do through all the weary days?
Thus wail we and lament. Our eyes we raise,
And, lo, our Brother with an outstretched hand!

Last Words

© Amy Levy

These blossoms that I bring,
This song that here I sing,
These tears that now I shed,
I give unto the dead.

June

© Amy Levy

Last June I saw your face three times;
Three times I touched your hand;
Now, as before, May month is o'er,
And June is in the land.

In the Nower

© Amy Levy

Deep in the grass outstretched I lie,
Motionless on the hill;
Above me is a cloudless sky,
Around me all is still:

In the Night

© Amy Levy

Cruel? I think there never was a cheating
More cruel, thro' all the weary days than this!
This is no dream, my heart kept on repeating,
But sober certainty of waking bliss.

In the Mile End Road

© Amy Levy

How like her! But 'tis she herself,
Comes up the crowded street,
How little did I think, the morn,
My only love to meet!

The Dead To Clemenceau:

NOVEMBER, 1929
Come (we say) Clemenceau.
Why should you live longer than others? The vacuum that sucked
Us down, and the former stars, draws at you also.