Children poems

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© Tony Harrison

Next millennium you'll have to search quite hard
to find my slab behind the family dead,
butcher, publican, and baker, now me, bard
adding poetry to their beef, beer and bread.

Where bells no more affright the morn

© Emily Dickinson

Where bells no more affright the morn --
Where scrabble never comes --
Where very nimble Gentlemen
Are forced to keep their rooms --

Three times -- we parted -- Breath -- and I --

© Emily Dickinson

Three times -- we parted -- Breath -- and I --
Three times -- He would not go --
But strove to stir the lifeless Fan
The Waters -- strove to stay.

These are the Nights that Beetles love --

© Emily Dickinson

These are the Nights that Beetles love --
From Eminence remote
Drives ponderous perpendicular
His figure intimate

The Way to know the Bobolink

© Emily Dickinson

The Way to know the Bobolink
From every other Bird
Precisely as the Joy of him --
Obliged to be inferred.

The Mountain sat upon the Plain

© Emily Dickinson

The Mountain sat upon the Plain
In his tremendous Chair --
His observation omnifold,
His inquest, everywhere --

The Months have ends -- the Years -- a knot

© Emily Dickinson

The Months have ends -- the Years -- a knot --
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery --

The Merchant of the Picturesque

© Emily Dickinson

The Merchant of the Picturesque
A Counter has and sales
But is within or negative
Precisely as the calls --

The Beggar Lad -- dies early --

© Emily Dickinson

The Beggar Lad -- dies early --
It's Somewhat in the Cold --
And Somewhat in the Trudging feet --
And haply, in the World --

Some, too fragile for winter winds

© Emily Dickinson

Some, too fragile for winter winds
The thoughtful grave encloses --
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.

Some Rainbow -- coming from the Fair!

© Emily Dickinson

Some Rainbow -- coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere --
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock's purple Train
Feather by feather -- on the plain
Fritters itself away!

Of nearness to her sundered Things

© Emily Dickinson

Of nearness to her sundered Things
The Soul has special times --
When Dimness -- looks the Oddity --
Distinctness -- easy -- seems --

New feet within my garden go

© Emily Dickinson

New feet within my garden go --
New fingers stir the sod --
A Troubadour upon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.

I think the Hemlock likes to stand

© Emily Dickinson

I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow --
It suits his own Austerity --
And satisfies an awe

I meant to have but modest needs

I meant to have but modest needs --
Such as Content -- and Heaven --
Within my income -- these could lie
And Life and I -- keep even --

I cried at Pity -- not at Pain --

I cried at Pity -- not at Pain --
I heard a Woman say
"Poor Child" -- and something in her voice
Convicted me -- of me --

Contained in this short Life

Contained in this short Life
Are magical extents
The soul returning soft at night
To steal securer thence

Better -- than Music! For I -- who heard it --

Better -- than Music! For I -- who heard it --
I was used -- to the Birds -- before --
This -- was different -- 'Twas Translation --
Of all tunes I knew -- and more --

Away from Home are some and I --

Away from Home are some and I --
An Emigrant to be
In a Metropolis of Homes
Is easy, possibly --

At leisure is the Soul

At leisure is the Soul
That gets a Staggering Blow --
The Width of Life -- before it spreads
Without a thing to do --