All Poems
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The Wind Witch
© Madison Julius Cawein
THE wind that met her in the park,
Came hurrying to my side
It ran to me, it leapt to me,
And nowhere would abide.
Two Figures in Dense Violet Light
© Wallace Stevens
I had as lief be embraced by the portier of the hotel
As to get no more from the moonlight
Than your moist hand.
On the Sepulchre of our Lord
© Richard Crashaw
Here, where our Lord once laid his Head,
Now the grave lies buried.
The Guest House
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
The Bourne
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Underneath the growing grass,
Underneath the living flowers,
Deeper than the sound of showers:
There we shall not count the hours
By the shadows as they pass.
Rhyme for a Child Viewing a Naked Venus in a Painting of 'The Judgement of Paris'
© Robert Browning
He gazed and gazed and gazed and gazed,
Amazed, amazed, amazed, amazed.
A Christmas Colloquy
© John Crowe Ransom
ANN:
Father, what will there be for me
To-morrow on the Christmas tree?
Have you told Santa what to bring,
My pony, my doll, and everything?
"He has a fairy wife"
© Lesbia Harford
He has a fairy wife.
He does not know her.
She is the heart of the storm,
Of the clouds that lower.
To Mr. Edward Howard on His New Utopia
© Charles Sackville
Thou damn'd antipodes to common sense!
Thou foil to Flecknoe! Prithee tell from whence
Inscriptions: IX: Me Tho' In Life's Sequester'd Vale
© Mark Akenside
Me tho' in life's sequester'd vale
The Almighty sire ordain'd to dwell,
The Voice of the Swamp Oak
© Charles Harpur
Even when the waveless air
May only stir the lightest leaf,
A lowly voice keeps moaning there
Wordless oracles of grief.
Advice To A Friend On Marriage
© Eustache Deschamps
Soon you will long that you were dead
When married; seek in street or lane
Some love. No! Passion bids me wed.
You're crazybatter out your brain.
Poetry
© Boris Pasternak
Yes, I shall swear by you, my verse,
I shall wheeze out, before I swoon:
You're not a tenor's shape and voice,
You're summer travelling third class,
You are a suburb, not a tune.
Quan l'herba fresqu'el.h folha
© Bernard de Ventadorn
Can l'erba fresch'e.lh folha par
e la flors boton'el verjan
The Gods Are Dead
© William Ernest Henley
The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lempriere undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all. I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.
A Dream
© Boris Pasternak
I dreamt of autumn in the window's twilight,
And you, a tipsy jesters' throng amidst. '
And like a falcon, having stooped to slaughter,
My heart returned to settle on your wrist.
