War poems
/ page 499 of 504 /
'Twas Crisis -- All the length had passed --
© Emily Dickinson
'Twas Crisis -- All the length had passed --
That dull -- benumbing time
There is in Fever or Event --
And now the Chance had come --
'Tis true -- They shut me in the Cold --
© Emily Dickinson
'Tis true -- They shut me in the Cold --
But then -- Themselves were warm
And could not know the feeling 'twas --
Forget it -- Lord -- of Them --
"Houses" -- so the Wise Men tell me
© Emily Dickinson
"Houses" -- so the Wise Men tell me --
"Mansions"! Mansions must be warm!
Mansions cannot let the tears in,
Mansions must exclude the storm!
There came a Day at Summer's full
© Emily Dickinson
There came a Day at Summer's full,
Entirely for me --
I thought that such were for the Saints,
Where Resurrections -- be --
Praise it -- 'tis dead --
© Emily Dickinson
Praise it -- 'tis dead --
It cannot glow --
Warm this inclement Ear
With the encomium it earned
No Notice gave She, but a Change --
© Emily Dickinson
No Notice gave She, but a Change --
No Message, but a Sigh --
For Whom, the Time did not suffice
That She should specify.
Like Rain it sounded till it curved
© Emily Dickinson
Like Rain it sounded till it curved
And then I new 'twas Wind --
It walked as wet as any Wave
But swept as dry as sand --
In Winter in my Room
© Emily Dickinson
The very string with which
I tied him -- too
When he was mean and new
That string was there --
I fear a Man of frugal Speech --
© Emily Dickinson
I fear a Man of frugal Speech --
I fear a Silent Man --
Haranguer -- I can overtake --
Or Babbler -- entertain --
I held a Jewel in my fingers
© Emily Dickinson
I held a Jewel in my fingers --
And went to sleep --
The day was warm, and winds were prosy --
I said "'Twill keep" --
I am alive -- I guess
© Emily Dickinson
I am alive -- I guess --
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory --
And at my finger's end --
Bee! I'm expecting you!
© Emily Dickinson
Bee! I'm expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due --
She died -- this was the way she died.
© Emily Dickinson
She died -- this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
We never know how high we are
© Emily Dickinson
We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies --
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
© Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathers --
That perches in the soul --
And sings the tune without the words --
And never stops -- at all --
Heart! We will forget him!
© Emily Dickinson
Heart! We will forget him!
You and I -- tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave --
I will forget the light!
The house where I was born (10)
© Yves Bonnefoy
And then life; and once again
A house where I was born. Around us
The granary above what once had been a church,
The gentle play of shadow from the dawn clouds,
At The Door
© David Wagoner
All actors look for them-the defining moments
When what a character does is what he is.
The script may say, He goes to the door
And exits or She goes out the door stage left.
A Sweltering Day In Australia
© Mark Twain
The Bombola faints in the hot Bowral tree,
Where fierce Mullengudgery's smothering fires
Far from the breezes of Coolgardie
Burn ghastly and blue as the day expires;
The Widening Spell Of Leaves
© Larry Levis
--The Carpathian Frontier, October, 1968
--for my brotherOnce, in a foreign country, I was suddenly ill.
I was driving south toward a large city famous
For so little it had a replica, in concrete,
