| | | | The Hills in the Rain –1. |
| | | Cure for Mental Tiredness –8. |
| | | A ~ D \ On the Love of a Fool –9. |
| | | Reflections and – / Impressions –12. |
| | | Reflections &and Impressions –15-16. |
| | | Desire on Seeing the Ocean –17. |
| | | Written During Exams –18. |
| | | A ~ D \ Age in Youth –25. |
| | | The Woods are full of them –28. |
| | | []sicYouth’s False Departure[]sic32 |
| | | [Anthasian]sicAthanasian Creed –40. |
| | | The Lighting of the Lamps –41. |
| | | A ~ D x A ~ B The Child 43 |
| | | A ~ D x [Astors]sicAsters in a Bowl –46. |
| | | A Conversation between E. St. V. M.Millay &and R B..Rupert Brooke after Death –47. |
| | | The Cry of the Over-Sexed –55. |
| | | On Discussing CCanada with Ethe English –58 |
| | | A ~ D \ I Bring Pale Flowers –66. |
| | | A Symphony of the Senses.69 |
| | | [Prolongued]sicProlonged Crisis77. |
| | | A ~ B Nonsense A ~ B 104 |
| | | A ~ B The Grey &and Yellow Bird. A ~ B 107 |
| | | A ~ B Fragment A ~ B 108 |
| | | A ~ B Humidity A ~ B 111 |
| | | A ~ B The Statue A ~ B 111 |
| | | A ~ B Joy of Pain A ~ B 112 |
| | | A ~ B Insomnia A ~ B 113 |
| | | A ~ B The Small Room A ~ B 115. |
| | | A ~ B The Drug. A ~ B 117 |
| | | A ~ B Two Make a Pair A ~ B 118 |
| | | A ~ B Depression. A ~ B 120 |
| | | A ~ B Fairy Story A ~ B 121 |
| | | A ~ B The Ghost. A ~ B 121 |
| | | A ~ B Loneliness A ~ B 122 |
| | | A ~ B Pretense A ~ B 123 |
| | | Oh I love the A desolateness B desolation B desolateness of the hills, |
| | | And the lonesome feel of the rushing wind; |
| | | I love A this B the rain, which softly fills |
| | | The heart of me A ~ B &and B ~ with a glorious kind |
| | | Of happiness, too deep for words; |
| | | And I love to feel I’ve left the town behind, |
| | | And to know that all the horses A ~ B beasts B ~ &and birds |
| | | Are one with me A ~ B there B ~ in spirit and A ~ B in B ~ mind. |
| | | That’s why I love the hills in the rain, |
| | | They bring only peacefulness, cure mental / pain. |
| | | All grey were their faces |
| | | Their hands were blue-fingered, |
| | | And white was their hair. |
| | | Her A wearn A weary mind, engulfed with dread |
| | | Was to her intimates, as dead. |
| | | Her very soul, her very heart |
| | | Were in a cage &and dared not part. |
| | | for worry in its worst degree |
| | | Had just obsessed her bodily. |
| | | I lived in the town, Depression, |
| | | And I lived in the house, Despair, |
| | | When I came home in the evening |
| | | I knew Sorrow was waiting there. |
| | | Joy always went out to parties |
| | | A With A ~ And took Smiles as a chaperone, |
| | | But Frowns would be always with me |
| | | With a dull, sad note in her tone. |
| | | Discontent would sit by the fireside |
| | | And tell all the tales that he knew. |
| | | Often Moods would come in to see me |
| | | And Discontent used to come too. |
| | | Delight would go in the morning |
| | | And would never come back till night[]sic. |
| | | Old Madness used to torment me |
| | | And often be followed by Fright. |
| | | Till one day Discontent took me with her |
| | | And I danced with Youth for awhile |
| | | Then Discontent came gently &and taught me |
| | | That Life was at least worth a / smile. |
| | | And God, they said, is here &and there, |
| | | But God, thought I, between clenched teeth, |
| | | Oh give me youth and love &and fire, |
| | | And the joy of the life I’m living. |
| | | And meet me under yonder brier |
| | | And give me that worth giving. |
| | | Oh give me love, I pray of you, |
| | | My heart is hard &and cold, |
| | | And show me that the skies are blue |
| | | Though she does not say it |
| | | With tempests in and tempests out |
| | | I feel that I have sinned, |
| | | That somehow life is not quite right |
| | | And love is not too smooth |
| | | That even the sun is a bit too bright |
| | | And that death, alone, can soothe. |
| | | But then the strength of the hills was mine |
| | | for I walked on the hills undaunted, |
| | | And even the blood-red banner of love |
| | | I laughed at, mocked &and flaunted. |
| | | If it were not for the rain, |
| | | that sleet-grey something |
| | | with its soothing powers, |
| | | that cool refreshing sense of |
| | | the world would be a hectic place |
| | | would produce a mental fever, |
| | | whole nations would go mad |
| | | The sun-god is a hungry god, |
| | | and sucks up the moisture |
| | | that goes to make life liveable. |
| | | Why do you cry that the world is grey A ? B , |
| | | That love never A shatters B taps on your window-pane? |
| | | Why do you cry that life is old, |
| | | That sympathy stifles, fate is bold? |
| | | Why do you cry that the world is grey? |
| | | for spring, half heaven is here again. |
| | | Why do you say that the river is deep, |
| | | That God is relentless &and black is the sun? |
| | | Why do you say that beauty has left, |
| | | That cleverness sickens &and you are bereft? |
| | | A ~ B Why do you say that the river is deep |
| | | for a world of flowers has just begun. |
| | | Is there heaven? we cry, or only Hell, A ” B ~ |
| | | Is there happiness, subtlety, only pain? |
| | | We moan, we sigh, we buy &and we sell |
| | | And start all over &and try again. |
| | | “Are there real ghosts &and what is the sun? |
| | | Why is life cruel &and what are our goals? |
| | | [Purety]sicPurity, cleverness, passion – or none – |
| | | Are we alive or only our souls? |
| | | Why do we eat? To keep us alive? |
| | | Do we want to live A or B on only to die? |
| | | Life is uncertain; we’re bees in a hive – |
| | | Why think &and be clever? A Just B just suffer – but why?[]sic” |
| | | Oh to get away from oneself, |
| | | To forget that self even exists, |
| | | To live in the realms of others |
| | | On geometrical angles &and twists. |
| | | To forget that one’s head is a-throbbing |
| | | And to think all realities, mists. |
| | | But Fate is not as we’d like it, |
| | | These dreams of life haven’t come yet, |
| | | Oh, to get into oneself – |
| | | To get in and then – A – B ~ just A ~ B to forget! |
| | | Cure for Mental Tiredness. |
| | | If ever you have time to face |
| | | The cool tranquilities of space |
| | | Recline and A kep A ~ keep your mind at rest |
| | | for that, alone, I find is best. |
| | | A wind blew over the hill, |
| | | It chilled the new green grass; |
| | | The sun was covered by clouds |
| | | for I saw no shadows pass. |
| | | It was cold and bleak and grey, |
| | | Yet it filled me with delight, |
| | | for the [ecstacy]sicecstasy of being alone |
| | | Made the earth and me unite. |
| | | I sat on the ground and I sang to the sky |
| | | I filled my lungs with the cold, clear air. |
| | | Why was I happy? I don’t know why A . B ; |
| | | But I know that the wind tied knots in my hair. |
| | | A ~ D (accepted & printed by The Observer Dec. 2 34) |
| | | That fluttered in my hair; |
| | | And when I peeped within my hand |
| | | I found A just B but star-dust there. |
| | | A man and a moon and a mountain; |
| | | A night of stillness and song; |
| | | The wind in the flowers and a fountain; |
| | | Yet Life seems to struggle along. |
| | | Ah! yes my mind is empty, |
| | | And true, my eyes are sightless, |
| | | And my young soul rebels. |
| | | My lips are often wordless, |
| | | Yet, somehow my whole being |
| | | Pulsates with love for you. |
| | | They say my hands are useless, |
| | | My heart is in its prime, |
| | | And that my ways are foolish. |
| | | That I, who am so A helper A ~ helpless, |
| | | Should concentrate so much on you |
| | | That Youth is left behind? |
| | | There is blackness all around me, |
| | | Blacker than the deepest night, |
| | | Mental anguish; thoughts surround me, |
| | | Tear me, pull me, press me, hound A ; B me, |
| | | And the beating of my pulses |
| | | Is as horses all a- A frighty B fright . |
| | | And my eyes are full of longing, |
| | | Full of eager, anxious looks, |
| | | And the feelings that are thronging |
| | | Do not seem to me belonging, |
| | | for they’re fierce and wild &and fearless |
| | | Like the ravens and the rooks. |
| | | And my blood that once was crazy |
| | | With a fervid, heated force, |
| | | Acts as though it now were lazy, |
| | | And all nights seem slightly hazy |
| | | Due to unexpressed emotions; |
| | | And my life is all remorse. |
| | | When you wandered over the hills, |
| | | Those grey-green hills with me, |
| | | And then fell down, exhausted utterly. |
| | | When we spoke of sacred things |
| | | And smelled the damp moist earth, |
| | | Yet were inclined to scoff |
| | | At the God that gave them birth. |
| | | When the sun was going down |
| | | And the dusk was just beginning |
| | | The stifled feel in our throats |
| | | Made us feel that we were sinning. |
| | | Yet we cared not, and we feared |
| | | for Youth is rash at times |
| | | And we thought of naught but ourselves |
| | | And longed for tropical climes, |
| | | for the wind was getting up |
| | | And our sense of peace was gone. |
| | | Oh Youth is a beautiful thing, |
| | | or seems so when it is done. |
| | | Have you noticed the beauty yonder, |
| | | Above the mountains’ crest? |
| | | Yes it is best, it is best. |
| | | Much more is it lovely than diamonds are, |
| | | Oh gaze not at earth, but up higher, afar, |
| | | for the dreams of a maiden are caught in / a net |
| | | And the hands that A carresed B caressed them are dewy / and wet. |
| | | At the dreams of a maiden, |
| | | Look deeply, yet tenderly, lest you forget |
| | | They are dreams of a maiden all caught / in a net |
| | | Reflections &and Impressions. |
| | | Let it drift through your fingers |
| | | Cock blue lights and straight |
| | | A queer and morbid creature |
| | | With sleepy, half-shut eyes, |
| | | Like moonbeams on the quiet water, |
| | | And finely-pencilled brows |
| | | And a mouth dangerously tender. |
| | | Counteract her grey hairs |
| | | Which are [beautifically]sicbeatifically silver |
| | | Like the clear ring of a small |
| | | The slender curves of her figure, |
| | | Her swinging, care-free walk |
| | | Make her a goddess in Hell. |
| | | VWizened, with a Face Like an |
| | | Wizened, with a face like an |
| | | Only an apple with a sound heart |
| | | A ~ C Ph C ~ A ~ C Fantasy |
| | | Elfin, sprite of the woods, |
| | | Bring your pipe and come. |
| | | Let the peaceful, A s A ~ blue smoke |
| | | Oh Elfin, sprite of the woods, |
| | | Twist your legs around yonder bluebell |
| | | And wear the bells as little |
| | | They seem like smooth pebbles |
| | | In the light of a crystal moon. |
| | | VIIIYours is This Last Summer |
| | | Yours is this last summer. |
| | | Your A au†urn B auburn hair soon will blend |
| | | With the autumnal tints of the trees[]sic. |
| | | Let your heart rejoice, it must spend |
| | | Its days with the soft drone of the bees. |
| | | Take unto yourself all the beauty |
| | | And cast aside worry and care. |
| | | Live, for this is your last summer, |
| | | And let me live in the light of your hair. |
| | | IX“Ha, Ha – I am All-Glorious,” She Cries |
| | | Ha, ha – I am all-glorious, she cries, |
| | | And my hair, my beautiful hair |
| | | But A shes B she knows not |
| | | That her face lacks expression |
| | | That her A hearts B heart |
| | | That her heart lacks love. |
| | | XYou Would Recognize Her Shadow |
| | | You would recognize her shadow |
| | | for the atmosphere it has, |
| | | You would know, at once, her grave, |
| | | Long after she were dead; |
| | | And her funny, grating voice |
| | | You know it when she thinks of you, |
| | | And understand her meaning. |
| | | You would recognize her too, |
| | | By the love that issues forth |
| | | And her never-failing sympathy |
| | | Like a south wind rushing north |
| | | To melt the frosty icicles &and get the snow away. |
| | | Oh you couldn’t help but know her |
| | | As her smile is always gay. |
| | | Desire on Seeing the Ocean. |
| | | I long to dive into your aquamarine / depths, |
| | | To cleave your freshness with my body; |
| | | To feel the rushing of your waters |
| | | On my back and breasts and forehead, |
| | | That you have risen just a fraction |
| | | Those who are made of sterner stuff |
| | | Those who are made of sterner stuff |
| | | Can drill equations in their brain |
| | | And bear up under all the strain. |
| | | Their minds are full with history dates |
| | | And chem. result, taxation rates, |
| | | They do not fret nor worry, yet |
| | | A Why † A ~ No need to, for the marks they’ll get |
| | | Are high and glowing: how we hate |
| | | Those people who can concentrate. |
| | | The night soothed my brain &and the wind cooled / my face, |
| | | The light of the stars and the peace of the place |
| | | Brought terrible pictures |
| | | Of night-maresnightmares and things |
| | | And birds with soft A winds B wings |
| | | Flew past my body &and into the dark. |
| | | And the light of the stars seemed to sicken my / sense. |
| | | And the light of the stars |
| | | Yes, weeping in the marble stair. |
| | | The glorious passages of air. |
| | | And sprinkle star-dust in our eyes, |
| | | Upon the splendorsplendour of the skies. |
| | | And naked, run through leafy bowers. |
| | | forget the passing of the hours. |
| | | I love the leafy stillnesses, |
| | | The swishing of the wind, |
| | | The swirling of the river, |
| | | And the town left miles behind. |
| | | I love the lengthy silences |
| | | That speak in times forgotten, |
| | | Which none can understand but me |
| | | Which none can even hear but me |
| | | And the smell of wood all rotten. |
| | | I love grey skies above my head |
| | | And Nature breathing everywhere |
| | | And Nature breathing everywhere |
| | | Oh life it is complete[]sic. |
| | | Return with your heart full of love, |
| | | Your arms full of flowers, |
| | | Your lips full of singing |
| | | And your eyes full of joy, |
| | | for I am old with the trials |
| | | Of this world. My heart needs refreshing |
| | | With the delicious cleanness of Youth. |
| | | O come with me over the hill tops |
| | | And climb up the moon’s pale rays |
| | | O come, with bare feet &and hair flowing |
| | | Where wild flowers &and grasses are growing |
| | | And the sky is A a B ~ deep blue up above |
| | | And elfins cavort &and sing praise |
| | | O come, &and your heart will be loving |
| | | Your mind will be free from all care, |
| | | And dew, with a beautiful sparkle |
| | | Will rest on your hands, &and your hair. |
| | | Your lips, they will open with gladness, |
| | | Your eyes, they will glisten with love |
| | | And only the heavens will know it, |
| | | The glorious splendours above. |
| | | There was the hush of the morning |
| | | And a soft breeze stirring the flowers; |
| | | There was the day just dawning |
| | | And nothing but long, still hours; |
| | | There was the rippling river, |
| | | The peacefulness, mountains &and trees |
| | | When I thought to myself, for ever |
| | | One’s heart can want naught but these. |
| | | The summer was long &and dusty |
| | | And the autumn was bleak &and bare |
| | | When I thought to myself, Why, Beauty |
| | | Cannot be found everywhere. |
| | | My breast was just beaten with sorrow |
| | | My mind was distorted with pain |
| | | When I thought to myself “I’ll borrow |
| | | Love, and be happy again.[]sic” |
| | | The human side of nature is divine |
| | | The harsher side is horrid &and uncouth, |
| | | How strange, that through this searching / soul of mine |
| | | I cling with longing to Eternal Youth. |
| | | We, who have spent our lives |
| | | Conquering fears &and singing all the day, |
| | | Playing with flowers but throwing grass / away, |
| | | Playing with mud as woman plays with / man. |
| | | We, who have spent our A years B youth |
| | | In Nature’s sheltered bowers, |
| | | Clung to the beautiful, as something / that was ours, |
| | | When we are faced with life, filth &and / reality |
| | | When we are faced with love, Hell &and / humility |
| | | We are amazed, frightened &and horrified, |
| | | Constantly mystified, constantly / terrified. |
| | | Until a few short years have passed. |
| | | A for A ~ Time changes every thing at last. |
| | | Over the earth &and over the river |
| | | I’m known to man as the greatest giver; |
| | | But I have crumbled Death in my hand, |
| | | Which only the Prophets understand. |
| | | And the soul stands still |
| | | Beats monotonously, like thunder; |
| | | On the cool, green grass, |
| | | Then open my hand to look for A death B Death , |
| | | But lo, [its]sicit’s gone as I draw new breath. |
| | | A ~ D \ D ✓ The very essence of your heart was mine; |
| | | I bathed in it &and it suffused my being. |
| | | It bore me onward to the golden shrine |
| | | Whereat I worshipped you, until, at last, / unseeing |
| | | I ventured from the radiant light of you |
| | | Into the night, alone, my heart, alone, |
| | | Clambered o’er rocks &and from the sight of you |
| | | Guided by love &and feelings too well known. |
| | | It was pitch black; I felt victorious – |
| | | Until I saw one iridescent star |
| | | That shone &and winked at me, it was all-/ glorious. |
| | | Your beauty paled, you seemed to me, afar. |
| | | Your lips were passionless, your eyes, / lack-lustre |
| | | You could not equal such illustrious light, |
| | | And then I knew – I knew my soul must / muster |
| | | An ill-spent strength &and banish you that / night. |
| | | my soul has lost its freshness. |
| | | With a pain where my heart should be; |
| | | smiles &and pretends [its]sicit’s happy |
| | | Oh! when will they learn, |
| | | these people, always with me, |
| | | and A can’t bear B hate their continual noise? |
| | | A God B No ! I want peace |
| | | A [And]sicand B and the piercing quiet of nature |
| | | and the dark, moist earth, |
| | | instead of their petty joys. |
| | | Ah God! are they shallow? |
| | | A B A ~ by a gnawing pain |
| | | where a rapturous heart should be? |
| | | [Its]sicit’s merely called |
| | | Whose very lines give forth a golden-glow; |
| | | That meets the world in terms of Yes or No. |
| | | So passionate, yet with a tender bow; |
| | | And curling hair as white as driven snow. |
| | | And active – A sli A ~ so slim, so supple too |
| | | That doubtless were only made for you |
| | | So sensitive, as if just bathed in dew |
| | | A Oh B ~ you’re so graceful &and so charming |
| | | The Woods are Full of Them. |
| | | You ask me if I love you, |
| | | You say it means your life. |
| | | But others have before you |
| | | And they have each a wife. |
| | | That I’m your breath &and food; |
| | | But better ones come later |
| | | Better &and twice as good. |
| | | I’m not your inspiration. |
| | | Don’t wince, it is a fact. |
| | | [Its]sicIt’s merely empty passion |
| | | That drives you to this act. |
| | | Such empty childish passion – |
| | | forget me for a month or two |
| | | And there’ll be plenty more. |
| | | And though I’ve my profession |
| | | I have sacrificed my life. |
| | | And thus I cast love from me |
| | | With a forced, yet icy look. |
| | | But A now B since my heart is empty |
| | | To flourish as A I A ~ a writer |
| | | Now that [Ive]sicI’ve let love pass by |
| | | It was you who gave me the courage |
| | | To look people straight in the face, |
| | | And strange, it was you who induced me |
| | | To step up &and sit in your place. |
| | | Oh! creature elusive and lovely |
| | | You ran from my grasp and up higher |
| | | You painted the mountains with snows |
| | | Yet you painted the sun with red fire. |
| | | I scrambled to catch you in vain, |
| | | for you slid down a ray to the ground |
| | | And under the caverns of man |
| | | You explored countless treasures unfound. |
| | | Then with hands still pure white with the / truth |
| | | You sped up the mountains again |
| | | I followed you always with longing |
| | | Though tortured with anguish &and pain |
| | | Ah fairy! What else could you be? |
| | | You placed me at last by your side |
| | | On the pinnacles Truth, Faith &and Fame. |
| | | Then you just sat down quietly &and died. |
| | | To be added to The Spangled / Unicorn. |
| | | I’ve got a mammy with a heart of gold. |
| | | She lost a baby &and a [nickle]sicnickel at the zoo |
| | | The baby didn’t matter – we still have two |
| | | But the [nickle]sicnickel – Hell |
| | | A [Its]sicIt B It means – oh well – |
| | | A It means B ~ A no B [no]sicNo new tooth brush |
| | | I’ll have to find a cowboy |
| | | Ursula! my beauty-maiden. |
| | | Name just like a juicy pair |
| | | when the great god snows, |
| | | Look on this day, when A †uth B Youth A ha A ~ is left behind |
| | | Not as a dreary one, a weary one |
| | | Let your troubles play with him, |
| | | Cast them all away with him. |
| | | Think not that your beauty is now hard to find. |
| | | Beauty in the old is A more B less rare than in the young; |
| | | Harsh lines soften, often, often. |
| | | Youth admires the beautiful, he will not depart |
| | | You will find him lurking in the corners of your / heart. |
| | | Into the silent woods I walked, |
| | | Unhappy with dead yesterdays |
| | | I sat &and with my spirit talked, |
| | | Alas! – my world just fell apart. |
| | | The air was heavy as my heart. |
| | | The past! the past! I cried in vain, |
| | | Oh! how relentless is the pain. |
| | | I thought my sobs fell all unheard |
| | | But ah God, no – there piped a bird. |
| | | Only the moon, that slender crescent |
| | | Heart, keep still, A [its]sicit’s B ’tis only the moon. |
| | | Only the rain, so soft, grey-fingered |
| | | Heart, keep still, A [its]sicit’s B ’tis only the rain. |
| | | Only the wind, yes, whistling, whining, |
| | | Playing among A thes A ~ the pines: |
| | | Heart, keep still, A [its]sicit’s B ’tis only the wind. |
| | | Only a thought of cherished moments |
| | | Heart, keep still, A [its]sicit’s B [tis]sic’tis only a thought. |
| | | To let you go &and leave you, |
| | | Where, once, the accents of your |
| | | Your pleasure would come first |
| | | I’ve thought, &and now Yes darling |
| | | Just once or twice in a lifetime |
| | | Does a fresh breeze blow in our face |
| | | And we choose not the time or the place. |
| | | It comes when we least expect it, |
| | | It comes – oh we know not when. |
| | | And it fills our hearts with gladness |
| | | That is not often felt by men. |
| | | And Love will bear us along.? |
| | | Our song’s A depe A ~ deceptive &and flat |
| | | for life’s not really like that. |
| | | Grey hairs – you are my attraction, |
| | | Grey hairs – drive me to distraction. |
| | | Three, no four, delightful people now |
| | | Have won me with their smiles |
| | | And the grey upon their brow. |
| | | My God! how do you do it? |
| | | You are putting me through it |
| | | Please go – leave my heart with me |
| | | To escape those grey hairs |
| | | Grey hairs, A y A ~ others aren’t in it. |
| | | Grey hairs, you’ll be my death. |
| | | My long-awaited solitude has gone – |
| | | Gone with the first leaf’s fall, |
| | | Only the twittering notes of a sparrow’s / call |
| | | Tell me that life goes on |
| | | That winds in quiet aloofness |
| | | Speaks in tones forgotten |
| | | And lift the cold receiver from the phone |
| | | Though I may long &and long to be alone. |
| | | Ah! Nature! Why make such creatures |
| | | With such all-glorious features[]sic? |
| | | They hold my heart &and my soul |
| | | In fact they capture my whole. |
| | | And my eyes are seeking the Stars. |
| | | And gaze upon Saturn &and Mars. |
| | | Just for A a A ~ the moment |
| | | And clutch at the sheets of the bed. |
| | | And rise with a pain in my head. |
| | | When I Think of You Who Meant All to Me |
| | | When I think of you who meant all to me, |
| | | When I think of how you would call to me, |
| | | To you it meant nothing, I realize now |
| | | But those calls to me were divine. |
| | | I sometimes wonder &and ask myself how |
| | | Devotion could act just like wine. |
| | | Then I think of your eyes so tender, dear[.]sic |
| | | So tender &and oh! so kind. |
| | | Then I think how your words could render, dear, |
| | | Storms in this narrow mind. |
| | | It’s queer how you’ve changed from a / glorious god |
| | | To a being less near than a brother[]sic. |
| | | It’s queer what even on humble sod |
| | | One sex can do to another. |
| | | It was a dull &and gloomy day, |
| | | The trees all swayed &and moaned &and / wailed |
| | | But life was full of love. |
| | | It’s queer, how, when the weather’s / wet, |
| | | How, when the skies are grey |
| | | Most people don’t feel sad, &and yet |
| | | Why feel? [I]sicIt doesn’t pay. |
| | | It hurts, ah God! it hurts. |
| | | How can we bear to sit &and stare |
| | | At a sunset golden &and red? |
| | | It stabs the heart with beauty rare, |
| | | The heart, yes, not the head. |
| | | A Delusions C Illusions. |
| | | Do you remember how we rode together? |
| | | With the wind in our face &and our hair |
| | | And swam whatever the weather |
| | | And laughed at our bodies bare? |
| | | Do you remember how we played together? |
| | | And thought that for ever &and ever |
| | | Our life was to be delight? |
| | | [Anthasian]sicAthanasian Creed. |
| | | Anthasian Creed? – I’m told to write |
| | | But ignorance it checks me here, |
| | | I’ve never heard the phrase before |
| | | Considering I’m forced to write, |
| | | Some nonsense will I put. |
| | | Alas! my mind has gone quite blank, |
| | | No help A in it A ~ is found in it; |
| | | And so I think before I write |
| | | I’ll have to learn a bit. |
| | | The Lighting of the Lamps. |
| | | The lamplighter is old &and withered &and grey, |
| | | He comes round every night about dark. |
| | | He’s sleeping &and eating the whole of the day |
| | | But at night he lights lamps in the park. |
| | | I look through my window, I peep as he goes |
| | | When I’m meant to be going to bed. |
| | | It’s such a temptation. Oh! nobody A knew A ~ knows |
| | | for three nights ago Mummy said: |
| | | Don’t waste your time, darling, now take / [of]sicoff your socks[]sic, |
| | | You have years to see lamplighter men. |
| | | Come, off with your panties, don’t get on / the box, |
| | | When you’re older, you’ll look at him then. |
| | | It’s no use complaining, but oh! don’t / they know |
| | | That it’s now I like lamplighter man |
| | | When I’m older I’ll be like my parents &and so |
| | | I [wont]sicwon’t want to look out at him then. |
| | | I was beset by beauty – that old thrill |
| | | Of reading till the very pages, still |
| | | Of common paper, no more seemed; |
| | | The words alone were there. |
| | | And then, once more I dreamed |
| | | That all the words were true! |
| | | Visions of glorious sunsets |
| | | [Blazened]sicBlazoned before my eyes; |
| | | Luscious buds just bursting |
| | | Caused me pained surprizesurprise; |
| | | Seemed the A one B ~ only thing |
| | | That my soul delighted in. |
| | | or maid with mop or broom |
| | | Shattered all these joys. |
| | | A ~ B Cast my mind in gloom |
| | | I stirred, A †† B the , the light was dim |
| | | My very hands seemed old. |
| | | I looked – the fire was out |
| | | A ~ D ✓ Yes, I loved you – |
| | | [Yours]sicYour ways were wild |
| | | Then something came between |
| | | Ah! never mind, one day you’ll discover |
| | | That the child has another lover. |
| | | To love &and then to forget, |
| | | To love &and then to remember. |
| | | A life of broken hearts &and disillusionments. |
| | | And conflicts drain the mind of force. |
| | | To love &and then to forget. |
| | | Have you ever loved with all that is in you? |
| | | Poured forth your heart at another’s feet? |
| | | Been loved in return with a passionate fire |
| | | Then found yourself standing on the castles / you built? |
| | | Have you ever – but no, I can go no further, |
| | | for the Hell of it all is too much. |
| | | We concoct worries to counteract such / experiences |
| | | And then years later, having become hardened |
| | | Laugh at our own unfortunate youth. |
| | | You have broken my heart, |
| | | Always ready for your love |
| | | Always reaching out to you |
| | | Long as stars &and sun will shine |
| | | Strange how, on the eve of departure |
| | | We long for a few days more |
| | | And think of the past, not the future, |
| | | And all that it held in store. |
| | | How we hate all good-byes that are cheery |
| | | for we feel they don’t mean anything |
| | | Yet of sad ones we also are leary |
| | | for grief’s a tempestuous thing. |
| | | [Astors]sicAsters in a Bowl. |
| | | [Astors]sicAsters in a bowl! |
| | | I pity you – you never knew him. |
| | | This little life of yours has gone for naught, |
| | | But then, it was the daffodils that slew him |
| | | My heart says No. because I loved him so. |
| | | But love is overpowering, so they say. |
| | | Perhaps I stifled him –&and yet the flowers – |
| | | He was so queer that day. |
| | | I knew it not till later, but it did. |
| | | It died a tragic death amid |
| | | [Astors]sicAsters, I pity you |
| | | [To]sicToo late from out your earthy beds |
| | | A Conversation between E. St. V. Millay / &and Rupert Brooke after Death. |
| | | How strange it is to meet you here[]sic. |
| | | I asked my mother once – she said |
| | | That if I followed where you led |
| | | I really [mind]sicmight do well, how should |
| | | I know she meant celestial food. |
| | | Now I am dead, think only this of me: |
| | | That there’s some corner A of A ~ in this wide, blue / heaven |
| | | That is, for aye, my workshop. There shall be |
| | | No mockery or days of failure ev’n. |
| | | A girl, whom the States bore, shaped, made / aware, |
| | | Gave once her flowers to love, her ways to / roam |
| | | And all you did was copy me, nor care |
| | | That what you wrote was just as froth / or foam. |
| | | Down the long paths of life, |
| | | Through the pink clouds of Hell, |
| | | We wander, &and yet press forward, |
| | | Clutching at helpless things |
| | | With ever moving fingers; |
| | | At nettles with sharp stings |
| | | And prickles &and knife-edges, |
| | | And the awful pain still lingers |
| | | We claw &and grasp but still go on, |
| | | We shake &and whimper, but in vain. |
| | | This awful life continues |
| | | And our bodies yet our own. |
| | | We wonder at the clever &and scoff at the insane, |
| | | And then – a while before A b A ~ we die, |
| | | With groping hands &and mouldy heart, |
| | | With parting breath, soon, soon to part, |
| | | God! the joy of something warm &and tender. |
| | | Then lest we lose it soon |
| | | We squeeze A † A ~ it hard, glad for a minute – |
| | | It is not so soft now our fingers are in it. |
| | | And looking down with bleary eyes |
| | | Gaze on the awful sight of a young bird[]sic. |
| | | Yes, by our hand it dies! |
| | | One moment of joy then misery; |
| | | And after having taken breath, |
| | | Why should the trees be rooted? |
| | | Why should the trees be rooted |
| | | Such plaintiff arms they stretch, |
| | | Why should the trees be rooted? |
| | | Why should the trees be rooted |
| | | The night arrives on velvet-sandalled feet |
| | | With constant side-long glances of retreat; |
| | | Yet on it draws, till gradually it closes |
| | | A His B Its cloak of darkness o’er the slumbering roses. |
| | | With soft caressing hands A he B it shuts each flower, |
| | | Surrounds the world more densely every hour; |
| | | Encourages the stars to shine &and beckons |
| | | The moon to shed A her B its radiance on the earth. |
| | | I love him with his whispering, silky movements, |
| | | for it was night when my delight had birth. |
| | | The [invisable]sicinvisible mockery of a loveless age – |
| | | Oh! how it eats one’s heart! |
| | | How the naked nights of grief |
| | | Just tear one’s soul apart. |
| | | How one longs without knowing |
| | | Just to love &and live &and love |
| | | And grasp with heart o’erflowing |
| | | A beauteous thing, which growing |
| | | I think I have always loved you |
| | | But never known till now. – |
| | | Your sad, grey eyes &and tired careworn brow. |
| | | You played on my very heart-strings |
| | | In a tender subtle strain, |
| | | And, fool that I was, I probed into my brain |
| | | for the reaction; none was there. |
| | | I conjured up a hundred different feelings, |
| | | All were false. And then the air |
| | | Quite quickly grew unhappy |
| | | My head I found was bowed. |
| | | I kneel before you now, with eyes downcast, |
| | | I love you, love you, cried my soul at last. |
| | | A dreamy stillness lurks within its walls |
| | | And echoing A ef A ~ elfin laughter fills its halls. |
| | | An atmosphere of hazy listlessness |
| | | Which soothes the worried head &and ruptured / heart. |
| | | A silence [with]sicwhich commands the beautiful |
| | | To grow &and live &and A never to B nevermore depart. |
| | | A lovely place with nooks &and crevices |
| | | And dim, dark shadows, soft with ancient / dreams |
| | | And flashing lights from fancy’s imagery |
| | | Dance on the whitened walls &and age old / beams. |
| | | A very A d A ~ place of sorrow &and delight, |
| | | A place of new-born hope, a magic whole, |
| | | That even, just to rest there for a night |
| | | Brings sweet content unto a lifeless soul. |
| | | Swathed in an oyster dress |
| | | With pearls in your ears. |
| | | Soon filled my eyes with tears. |
| | | Fell down around your feet, |
| | | The world was full of song, |
| | | Your laugh was like a A †††† B bell, A bell, B ~ |
| | | Rushed up into my throat. |
| | | What, though they laughed at him, |
| | | But whose the gain[.]sic? |
| | | And so to-day, A a A ~ with nothing left but taste of last / [nights’]sicnight’s wine |
| | | That mad night – how thought I then that it was / grand &and fine? |
| | | My one remaining thought is sour &and bitter. |
| | | My pulse still beats the same as days before |
| | | This A man A ~ madness. Yet I say |
| | | It was a fairy home I had |
| | | And on my brow my mother pressed |
| | | And in my heart, at rest, unstressed |
| | | It was a fairy home I had |
| | | It is a crystal house I have |
| | | With glittering walls around |
| | | Where people have not learned the joy |
| | | By unborn hands. All is alloy |
| | | A mixture &and a mound[]sic. |
| | | It is a crystal house I have |
| | | With snow drops on the ground. |
| | | My father’s ashes? They still glow |
| | | But life is just an overflow. |
| | | A ~ C On Discussing Canada with the English. |
| | | You say you hate the prairies, the long stretches |
| | | of wheat &and A p A ~ corn &and tousled, wind-blown flowers. |
| | | You say you hate the young cow-hand who / fetches |
| | | the cattle from the grass in twilight hours. |
| | | You say you’d sooner see the people round / you |
| | | A and eat gross A ~ the cluttered roads &and houses / thick with man, |
| | | and eat gross dinners, with phlegmatic / people, |
| | | of Yorkshire pudding, good roast beef &and ham. |
| | | You tell me that the prairies are depressing |
| | | and that you find such solitude a bore; |
| | | you say – but no ..… I say [its]sicit’s too / distressing, |
| | | I’ve listened to A these monologues B such talks as these before. |
| | | I’ve heard the same words spoken, yes, / already |
| | | by fumbling lips, unknowing &and unknown – |
| | | Ah! God – the very thought makes me / unsteady |
| | | Come prairies, come, for A † A ~ I am all alone[..]sic. |
| | | Yours is my soul &and I give it |
| | | as a sacrament, tattered &and torn, |
| | | tattered &and torn, yes &and worn. |
| | | Open your heart [than]sicthat is fuller |
| | | than mine, dear, could possibly be, |
| | | open &and take, don’t discard it, |
| | | the sacrament, given by me. |
| | | Don’t ask me why, just accept it, |
| | | constantly battered by love, |
| | | battered &and shattered by love. |
| | | I am the giver, the gainer, |
| | | you are the loser, perhaps. |
| | | But, God, take it now, I implore you, |
| | | take it ere ever it snaps. |
| | | A really common heart she had, |
| | | An unbecoming way of speech |
| | | A painted mouth &and broken shoes |
| | | silk-stockings, different hues. |
| | | She learned to have exalted thoughts |
| | | And learned to modulate her voice. |
| | | A well-dressed woman, now, they say |
| | | Yet falseness holds her in its sway. |
| | | A To Violet. B [The Change]sicTo Violet |
| | | Grey London, grey cars, grey faces, |
| | | A A B a fog, a night of weary happenings – |
| | | [A]sica life, quite changeless &and monotonous |
| | | like a wheel turning with its cogs / worn down. |
| | | A sombre life – a dirty pigeon flying, |
| | | a lot of filthy garbage in a pail, |
| | | an errand-boy – anaemic, with a / parcel[]sic, |
| | | a working man, venereal &and smooth. |
| | | Then like the lightning in a thunder storm |
| | | a flashing sports car dashes through the / street |
| | | yet driven sanely, by a clean-faced / boy. |
| | | A boy of healthy hands, of purring thoughtful eyes, |
| | | a boy who likes to race &and yet likes people too |
| | | &and for their sakes he curbs his youthful joy |
| | | and stops at danger signs, &and too, slows up |
| | | at crossings &and when people are about; |
| | | yet when the road is free he dashes on. |
| | | His eyes are dancing A now B ~ &and his arms are / wings. |
| | | But London is a different city now. |
| | | She shuts her foggy eyes in ecstasy |
| | | A And B and thrills at common things like / tramping feet |
| | | and throbbing engines of unwieldy trucks |
| | | and crackling paper in the cheaper / stores. |
| | | Only strange moon-lit evenings |
| | | with shadows in leafy places |
| | | well-loved Calgary faces. |
| | | The sun in his golden orbit |
| | | is happy with smiling graces |
| | | so then I will not think of |
| | | well-loved Calgary faces. |
| | | then goes &and the frost is on you |
| | | &and you cry with a voice of anguish |
| | | Why did the gods begin it? |
| | | Why is the sunlight on your shining hair |
| | | hurting my eyes as I stand here &and stare? |
| | | Why is the look in your eyes as you sit |
| | | making me weep with the beauty of it? |
| | | Why are A o A ~ your hands that are gentle &and / strong |
| | | music to me – a melodious song? |
| | | Here in this abysmal world |
| | | I catch at new-born thoughts, unfurled |
| | | and place them in a ring. |
| | | I stand surrounded by them |
| | | and I contemplate in turn |
| | | the A intrc A ~ intricacies of each one |
| | | and then I let them burn. |
| | | I let them burn &and smoulder |
| | | in a brain [thats]sicthat’s lost such joy |
| | | and then I A clutc A ~ cast them from me |
| | | before they clutch &and cling. |
| | | Before they clutch and cling, oh God! |
| | | and then my mind is blank |
| | | and ready for more new-born thoughts |
| | | that line up rank by rank. |
| | | I trip the light fantastic toe |
| | | Hither &and thither wherever I go |
| | | and try to forget the youth that’s dead |
| | | when I wearily close my eyes in bed. |
| | | for the thought of it all is a terrible dream |
| | | and I’m lost in the filth of a stagnant stream. |
| | | A tender face, where meet the thoughts of human / understanding |
| | | where neath’neath the slope of wisdom’s roof all / sympathies are banding. |
| | | a [pluméd]sicplumèd helmet wore; |
| | | hat-conscious days of yore. |
| | | a [womans]sicwoman’s ardent praise? |
| | | if you’ve no hat to raise? |
| | | It was with Joy that I First Saw You Smile |
| | | It was with joy that I first saw you smile, |
| | | It was with joy that I first heard you speak, |
| | | You give me such great pleasure for the while |
| | | In which I see you, dear, one day each week. |
| | | It was with joy that I first saw you walk |
| | | It was with joy that I first heard you laugh |
| | | The smooth &and soothing cadence of your / talk |
| | | Is like ripe kernels mixed with so much chaff. |
| | | I saw the sunlight climbing thru’through the trees, |
| | | the frosty trees, grey black against the sky. |
| | | It sparkled on the glittering frozen boughs |
| | | in shining beauty falling from on high. |
| | | I saw the moonlight gleaming on the sward, |
| | | the frosty sward, with white upon its brow. |
| | | It had a look of evil phantasy |
| | | that chills my soul when thinking of it now. |
| | | that catch the moon’s white light |
| | | and glimmer in the shadow of your night; |
| | | before with drooping heads they fade away. |
| | | catch not in cups the vasty firmaments, |
| | | in simple attitudes of cloth and wood. |
| | | that for to-day I love you utterly. |
| | | but I may change, so I bring flowers to you. |
| | | and so I tore myself from out the wood |
| | | for my heart was bare &and bleeding; |
| | | your thorny briars snugly camouflaged |
| | | had scratched at me in passing; |
| | | your low, [darking]sicdarkling-sweeping beech boughs |
| | | had encumbered all my movements |
| | | and the sweetness of your chestnut spikes |
| | | had [poisene]sicpoisoned all my blood |
| | | Those tiny wires that link our voices, dear, |
| | | that make me hear the words you have to say |
| | | in your own voice thrilling &and resonant |
| | | those tiny wires A f A ~ |
| | | &and so, together form a mystical, |
| | | mechanical device which brings from you |
| | | a message, a vibration over space, |
| | | to me, the hearer, raptured, &and one who |
| | | has waited breathlessly for centuries |
| | | to catch a sound resembling? No, |
| | | but reminiscent of those days so long ago. |
| | | I am amazed. With thought new wonder comes. |
| | | Those tiny wires – I yet repeat the phrase. |
| | | no wires, machinery or instruments |
| | | are needed for the music of our hearts; |
| | | no dials or numbers or technicians, dear, |
| | | are wanted for the music of our souls. |
| | | tho’Though we were poles apart, |
| | | tho’Though wires were not, |
| | | tho’Though space &and time had parted you from me |
| | | we were not speechless, no we never were |
| | | for hearts and souls speak thru’through eternity. |
| | | fringed with phantom trees |
| | | as ships on billowy seas; |
| | | with their sails unfurled. |
| | | Call me from my haven, where the dull / moons gleam, |
| | | to the bare room where visions flashed as / in a dream. |
| | | Call me from my comfort, tear me from / content |
| | | to poverty and yearning after time misspent. |
| | | Whisper silver-soft of the rivulets that leap |
| | | and shriek to me of stars that prevent all / sleep; |
| | | talk to me of people, strange, strong &and bare |
| | | who stand upon the tables and will always / be there. |
| | | Remind me of the mountains, the air, the /
A † A ~ atmosphere |
| | | and tell me that monotony is A † A ~ stifling me here. |
| | | Tell me of the thunder that rolls as A is A ~ does / a drum |
| | | and my only answer could be, I come! I / come! |
| | | A Symphony of The Senses. |
| | | Your arms, curving like soft billows |
| | | advance &and vanish on the evening air |
| | | with some sweet sense of swerving destiny. |
| | | My mind, grasping for the meaning, |
| | | gropes with fingers blind, |
| | | swirls &and unites with the ethereal |
| | | til after one last rush of keen despair |
| | | it mingles with the rhythm of your arms. |
| | | Last summer was it? I only know |
| | | the night was dark – within, without. |
| | | The party over, we had gone |
| | | to get our cars &and leave. |
| | | I only know the night was dark; |
| | | as though a light suspended from above |
| | | We had been gay that evening |
| | | (and my hat was perched upon the tumble of my hair |
| | | A in B at at some absurd new angle.) |
| | | when tears were nearer to the heart |
| | | That made me laugh &and laugh, |
| | | repeat old stories &and consume more drinks. |
| | | and laughter was not in my heart at all |
| | | we left to find our cars. |
| | | I saw your pale, clear face, |
| | | your slanting grey-green eyes, |
| | | in golden ringlets down your cheeks, |
| | | I said Oh! Thanks so much |
| | | and laughed, The party has been fun. |
| | | []sic(Your eyes were fresh green almonds |
| | | in a bowl of good white china.) |
| | | And people all were there, |
| | | or Hell! it’s late &and I was disconcerted. |
| | | Goodbye I said (and true it was good-bye) |
| | | and laughed again, a hollow empty laugh, |
| | | &and threw my hat into the upper dark |
| | | with some gay, fool remark |
| | | about a story told by so-&and-so. |
| | | Then turned about &and ran a little way |
| | | &and found the car &and – yes – |
| | | the night was dark – within, without. |
| | | I only know your face was there |
| | | and both of us, we laughed. |
| | | Cringing near an apple-box |
| | | surrounded by the dampness &and the gloom |
| | | Playing with his fingers as |
| | | dribbles from his mouth onto his chest. |
| | | He has eyes that see not things |
| | | that others say they see; |
| | | he has lips that speak not words |
| | | he has ears that hear strange sounds – |
| | | noise of fairies’ laughter, |
| | | calls of demons from the deep, |
| | | cows that talk &and people who |
| | | placidly will sit &and moo. |
| | | playing with his fingers, |
| | | talking to the black-winged cats |
| | | &and to large &and lumbering ants, |
| | | of that empty cellar room. |
| | | my feelings all surge &and entwine |
| | | but with a deep-rooted design |
| | | some with the force &and the flash &and the passion |
| | | of paintings by Vincent Van Gogh |
| | | some that are petty &and pastel &and foolish |
| | | some that are coarse, lewd &and rough |
| | | phlegmatic I sit in this riot of colour |
| | | in the grip of a vice-like &and terrible pain – |
| | | silent I sit though my soul shrieks in / anguish |
| | | God for my passive resistance again! |
| | | That Full Relief of Knowing What to Say and What to Do |
| | | That full relief of knowing what to say &and / what to do, |
| | | yet doing nothing, with a heart so full |
| | | that but to speak returns tears to the eyes. |
| | | That swelling, filled up feeling in one’s breast |
| | | which hurts while it brings peace &and thankfulness. |
| | | All that you made me feel, (as though I [wore]sicwere / a child) |
| | | that once, when after years we sat together. |
| | | To see you sitting there quite naturally |
| | | and saying Yes, she had a child, |
| | | his name is Patrick, but she calls him Pat. |
| | | or Mother was not well at Christmas Time, |
| | | we fed her [calve’s]siccalves’ foot jelly. |
| | | And I, replying Yes &and No &and Oh |
| | | as if I really was most interested. |
| | | While all the time, we both, were longing so to / speak |
| | | as once we did, those many years ago. |
| | | At last, when after hours &and hours together, |
| | | and Big Ben struck six times &and all was through, |
| | | we knew that we had said nothing that mattered, |
| | | &and tried, at once, to reach that depth again |
| | | which once we knew so well, those years ago; |
| | | til realizing A with A ~ quickly, with one look |
| | | that both had suffered torment in our hearts, |
| | | we left. Good-bye. we said, &and then I’ll write |
| | | and tell you what I meant to say to-day. |
| | | And once again our hearts were full &and we |
| | | could speak no more, but A [chocked]sicchoked B [choaked]sicchoked &and hurried on |
| | | to grapple with the crowd &and push our ways |
| | | onto our different buses, &and to go |
| | | in different directions once again. |
| | | But it was better so. Intense pain was not / there. |
| | | Only a dull, full ache that showed us both so / well |
| | | the depth of our affections &and the force |
| | | of genuine emotions, though they be |
| | | stifled &and well-controlled. |
| | | As some far [gutteral]sicguttural noise that sweeps the night |
| | | descends upon the stillness of my room |
| | | I rise &and take a stalk with drooping head |
| | | and pin it in the blackness of my hair. |
| | | I take a pale green apple from a bowl |
| | | of yellow china &and I run from shade |
| | | to patch of moonlight till I reach the wood. |
| | | I dance a silver pattern with my feet |
| | | A upon B ~ A ~ B upon A the B ~ B the A softest B soft B ~ A moss B ~ A ~ B moss A that ever grew B age-old and drenched with dew B grown soft &and dark with age A ; B . |
| | | I plant my apple pips in rich, moist earth |
| | | and touch the gnarled old A trunk B trunks with slender / hand; |
| | | I weave a tapestry with glowing words |
| | | and little catches of forgotten songs. |
| | | The night is mine, I bathe my soul in it |
| | | until the cold grey dawn bids me return |
| | | The cold A g A ~ spiked greyness of a steeple |
| | | the grimy pinkness of the tenements, |
| | | the factory chimneys and the heavy smoke; |
| | | these are the sights that meet my eyes |
| | | I gaze toward the window from my work. |
| | | Coldness, squalor, filth – of these |
| | | so much our life is made. |
| | | the air is heavy as my heart, |
| | | but still is coldness, squalor, filth; |
| | | unhealthy minds exuding foul smells, |
| | | unwholesome thoughts are drifting through / the room |
| | | &and clinging to the few bright specks of light |
| | | so desperately they cast it all in grey. |
| | | Surging echoes of thunderous pasts |
| | | rush with beating wings to tear me / from Tranquility. |
| | | This calmness – why is it going? |
| | | Soft calmness of quiescent slumbers – |
| | | A Vapourous B Vaporously A caressings B caressing , |
| | | it is afraid of memories of turmoil &and stress[]sic. |
| | | Stress &and volcanic eruption |
| | | turning all beauty to fire. |
| | | Day is no longer smooth like a pebble |
| | | worn by the hands of the ages. |
| | | Night – it is all that is left to me – |
| | | yet even the night is changed, changed |
| | | &and disturbing –Sleep has no soothing power |
| | | [Prolongued]sicProlonged A Cries B Crisis |
| | | Your brow &and eyes so calm – my dear |
| | | Yet only the restless waves |
| | | [it’s]sicits fieriness is caught |
| | | Don’t curb your beating heart – |
| | | its ebb &and flow, [it’s]sicits storminess |
| | | The world, life as it is, is not for you. |
| | | &and curl &and twist about |
| | | they soar &and form a net |
| | | of [fancy’s]sicfancies, poems &and ideals |
| | | This net was floating high |
| | | until one day it chanced upon my heart. |
| | | Shrieking, discordant sounds striking the air |
| | | &and hurtling through the room – |
| | | Mad! all the people are mad – tearing around – |
| | | all senses are drugged. The lust of the body |
| | | possesses this mob – tearing &and shrieking. |
| | | Yet, in this Hell we are alone, strangely intact. |
| | | Our dance is slower, our eyes meet &and dwell |
| | | in the secret depths of each other’s souls. |
| | | We alone are immune in this crowd – |
| | | we alone live in each others hearts. |
| | | A ~ C XXXDid I Say I loved Him? |
| | | Was it my voice in the dark sounding so strange? |
| | | or was it the wind? – or my imagination? |
| | | My love must not be breathed |
| | | lest the fluttering curtains sweep it |
| | | out into the night – alone – |
| | | and would not grow and swell |
| | | like a mighty wind so surround |
| | | Down to the Depths of Human Peril |
| | | Down to the depths of human peril |
| | | Downdown from the realms of hope you came |
| | | shrouded in mystery – not a person |
| | | dreamed a syllable of your name. |
| | | You were the one for whom I’d waited |
| | | endlessly – in this world of fear. |
| | | You were the one – I never doubted |
| | | Andand now, ah now draw me closer dear. |
| | | Drippingdripping blood on the paper in words. |
| | | I told them it was blood, |
| | | Andand the words made incisions in my brain, |
| | | Likelike rain piercing the earth |
| | | and quickening roots to sprout |
| | | I told them so A repeadedly B repeatedly |
| | | at the glistening drops &and say, |
| | | Her letter was like blood. |
| | | but raised inquiring eyebrows |
| | | Nineteen A ~ B &and Twenty. |
| | | I Think Perhaps If You But Really Loved Me Dear |
| | | I think perhaps if you but really loved me dear, |
| | | lost your life in mine completely, |
| | | you would lose your bitterness and I |
| | | You’ve had a struggle since a lad[]sic, |
| | | mine has been a life of ease. |
| | | You – afraid of nothing, are a man – |
| | | a cynical &and greatly soured one. |
| | | I have lived in comfort all my life |
| | | with so much time upon my hands |
| | | that I’ve become engulfed by self |
| | | The night was still but for the roar of waves; |
| | | the night was warm, warm tho’though the night was March, |
| | | when you and I, safe in each other’s arms |
| | | I was afraid – feared lest a wind should stir[]sic, |
| | | feared lest the trees should rustle and chill our love |
| | | it was so new, that I was afraid for it, |
| | | You kissed my lips, first very tenderly, |
| | | kissed them again, burning with love’s first thrill, |
| | | I was aglow, tremulous, unified |
| | | You kissed my eyes, how I had longed for this, |
| | | you kissed my hair, gentle as any child, |
| | | then you kissed my lips, hungrily, passionately |
| | | Love, this thing the [poet’s]sicpoets write about, |
| | | this thing that makes the world go round, |
| | | this glorious, self-sacrificing |
| | | omnipotent &and awe-inspring feeling. |
| | | Ah! God how can they lie? |
| | | Those words they speak should be driven back into / their breasts. |
| | | This love, this cursed plague, |
| | | this faith in those who know not loyalty; |
| | | this rotten, worm-riddled, rancid state |
| | | of trusting your soul, your beautiful soul |
| | | in warty hands that know not what they handle. |
| | | Illusions! how we wallow in them as children / will in mud |
| | | &and soak our hearts in lies – a sugar syrup. |
| | | What fools we mortals are – until we learn |
| | | until we know how false the world is, |
| | | until our foolish trusting hearts are wrung of / life blood |
| | | &and left like shrivelled walnuts, dry &and bitter. |
| | | lies in the nearest chair |
| | | so long as the weight of his body’s there. |
| | | and all my features blurred A , B ~ |
| | | from anxious waiting A ~ B , |
| | | a tremulous pulse in my being stirred. |
| | | I have been waiting thru’through the dark |
| | | for the pale dawn to find your face |
| | | in the vast sea of pillows &and of night. |
| | | First as the black changed to grey |
| | | I thought I saw your face with staring so, |
| | | tired with their anxious waiting |
| | | closed, and when next they opened, |
| | | dark grey had changed to light – |
| | | There was your nose A outlined agai A ~ |
| | | outlined against your cheek, |
| | | and that strong curve of flesh |
| | | half hidden now by so much pillow. |
| | | There, your eyes – lidded, |
| | | and your long dark lashes like two fans |
| | | your hair all rumpled &and one hand |
| | | curled near the crisp curve of your ear. |
| | | Soft &and furry crocuses? |
| | | [did]sicDid you? Oh tell me |
| | | for the answer means so much |
| | | means more than most things. |
| | | I’m Tired of It All, Dear Heart, I’m Tired of It All |
| | | I’m tired of it all, dear heart, I’m tired of it all, |
| | | your rapturous kiss, your devoted eyes |
| | | your keen delight &and marked surprizesurprise |
| | | when I enter a room. But I’m tired of it all. |
| | | I said I loved you? Once perhaps |
| | | in a glorious moment, a soulful lapse |
| | | ‘tween night &and dawn; now I’m tired of it all. |
| | | I’m tired of your love &and your loyalty |
| | | And tired of saying you’re all to me. |
| | | All to me – but I’ve said to you dear |
| | | [indent] That I’m tired of it all. |
| | | My mind is dappled like young fauns |
| | | or like the moss under trees in full leaf |
| | | It is mottled like pie-bald ponies |
| | | who rear in the circus ring |
| | | or like the slinking leopard |
| | | in the vaporous depths of jungle. |
| | | A ~ C It’s the Gypsy in Me. |
| | | My wild heart sings for freedom, |
| | | calls in an untamed voice |
| | | half [gutteral]sicguttural &and half shrill, |
| | | is loud with fierce desires |
| | | to be a gypsy A & B or a vagabond; |
| | | a wanderer with flowers in my hair; |
| | | an artist with a loose unmoral code. |
| | | So glad I am that on that night in June |
| | | when you were holding the all-trembling me |
| | | in your all-passionate you |
| | | I might have sighed or said some foolish A word B thing |
| | | that showed just how I felt. |
| | | But as it A was B is – the story now can end. |
| | | Had I but breathed a word or two that night, |
| | | in my discarded state, the pain of loss |
| | | would but be added to by knowing that / you knew |
| | | but now, since I was silent then, |
| | | my tears can all be shed in longing for your love |
| | | A and B ~ not in A self- B ~ humiliation. |
| | | A tree stood black against the milk-white moon |
| | | and all the noises of a silence rang within / my ears, |
| | | and all the kisses of a thousand loves |
| | | mingled A in A ~ together in that one long kiss |
| | | You, the unattainable – who equalled only / the milk-white splendorsplendour of the moon |
| | | combined with that dusky-velvet depth of / trees at midnight |
| | | fathoming depths I little knew I had, |
| | | I, who had always thought myself |
| | | You frightened me that day. |
| | | You were not you, but the thousands like you |
| | | So many millions had melted into your being. |
| | | you formed mere words – grown meaningless |
| | | thruthrough contact with your soul, |
| | | your house and your environment. |
| | | Your voice broke on the top notes |
| | | as you stretched a reddened hand to reach / the salt. |
| | | the suet pudding bubbled on the stove |
| | | from hard, crisp, earthy things |
| | | to flaky, starchy whiteness |
| | | thruthrough contact with your hands. |
| | | The copper lost its lustre, |
| | | that mellow, warm, red fire |
| | | by your new copper cleaner, |
| | | as you polished lustily yet placidly. |
| | | Oh, how you frightened me.. |
| | | I followed you all morning with my eyes |
| | | formed in the shelter of your house. |
| | | You engulfed all domesticity |
| | | with your movements from stove to pantry / cupboard. |
| | | But when I saw you set the cloth / I fled |
| | | Fled to the wind swept hills, |
| | | Left you &and all passionless things |
| | | like meat &and suet pudding. |
| | | I ran &and let the wind A run A ~ blow thruthrough my hair. |
| | | &and thought of rivers turbulent in March |
| | | &and hurricanes &and poignant crocuses |
| | | with some mad frenzy clutching at my heart[]sic. |
| | | for you had frightened me. |
| | | Wavery blue grey lines make a window; |
| | | a strange opaqueness is combined with the / most transparent quality. |
| | | And, as I watch, bright dresses worn by the / workers |
| | | A shines B shine through its transparency. |
| | | Further back there is a thickness which / nothing can probe; |
| | | but yes, there is a desk, strong in its / solidity, |
| | | Wavery grey blue lines make a window |
| | | bounded by the walls it is set in. |
| | | My time for loving you is over, |
| | | Love has no future but to die. |
| | | If you knew how my heart reacted |
| | | [If]sicif you knew how my senses quickened |
| | | Beloved, your lips have burned mine away. |
| | | So now not faithless am I |
| | | You have my lips in your heart; |
| | | you have my hands &and eyes; |
| | | they are not mine with loving you. |
| | | forever is the word I dare not use, |
| | | yet it hammers in my brain |
| | | and all love’s fierce sharp passion |
| | | has changed to a heavy weight, |
| | | that even I &and my proud head |
| | | A ~ C XII Wrote a Poem When We Loved |
| | | I wrote a poem when we loved |
| | | that captured all the sun |
| | | and all the trees &and all the bees |
| | | for you &and they were one. |
| | | I wrote a sonnet sharp with pain |
| | | a sonnet to bring back to me |
| | | that all our dreams had gone. |
| | | And then I wrote a dirge of death |
| | | &and so the sun, the bees &and trees |
| | | bowed down to my lost pride. |
| | | And as they did the memory |
| | | My pen upon the paper wrote |
| | | a sonnet sharp with pain. |
| | | Dusk –&and the lingering light was caught / in the wood-fringed bowl of water. |
| | | I sat alone &and gazed upon it long – |
| | | absorbing its reflections with my soul. |
| | | The [gramaphone]sicgramophone was playing in a corner of / the dark |
| | | reminding me of A this B last year’s love &and this year’s / disappointment. |
| | | I had forgotten how the music sounded in this / place; |
| | | had I but known I’d not have dared come / onto the veranda. |
| | | At last a voice behind me, &and I turned / expectantly. |
| | | We’re ready, chimed a chorus, A come B ~ A , B in & B ~ / do your best. |
| | | My best, thought I, is done, I stood the test. |
| | | A ~ C XIISomebody Walks Somewhere |
| | | his footsteps on the gravel of our walk. |
| | | This nearness of humanity |
| | | and I find my heart a frightened thing |
| | | crunching &and then they stumble. |
| | | I raise my eyes A from my book B ~ |
| | | &and try to look A expectant B delighted. A and delighted. B ~ |
| | | He says Hello &and takes the rocking chair |
| | | and talks of this &and that. |
| | | I answer him with anguish in my heart. |
| | | He then draws A nearer B closer |
| | | &and so he calls me cold, |
| | | and looks at me with tender, soulful eyes. |
| | | He little knows that he could move me more |
| | | by walking on the gravel of our walk. |
| | | One of these days some man is going to love me, |
| | | love every slight shy glance, |
| | | &and love every sad salt tear. |
| | | A ore A ~ or I’d have been good |
| | | You who have got a thousand moods to call to me |
| | | gently, this time, that I may see |
| | | Show me the broadest viewpoint – |
| | | no flashlight beam in the night, |
| | | show me the heavens flooded |
| | | You who have got a hundred moods to quiet even me |
| | | use every one, not [seperately]sicseparately – |
| | | that ever the world has known, |
| | | that I may later face life |
| | | A A Leser B Lesser Universe. |
| | | In the breathless swoop of a sea [gulls]sicgull’s wing |
| | | In the flaming torch of a maple tree |
| | | revolving in your own constellation |
| | | To compare you with aught but the earth, |
| | | the earth of a myriad moods, |
| | | is lack of comprehension, |
| | | Like a Meteor Lighting the Heavens |
| | | Like a meteor lighting the heavens |
| | | you hurtled through space to me, |
| | | &and I waited with rapturous longing |
| | | Tilltill you showed your face to me. |
| | | I waited alone in the darkness: |
| | | (The strength of such light disarms.) |
| | | Like a meteor too, I found you |
| | | burnt out A †hen B when you reached my arms. |
| | | I’m frightened, dear, to love too much |
| | | yetYet scared to love too little. |
| | | A for B And tho’though I feel I’m young &and strong |
| | | A ~ B for A They B [They]sicthey say that hearts are brittle. |
| | | A for B And if, my dear, my heart should break |
| | | A And B or B And shatter, ere it ceases |
| | | I’ve other things to do in life A t B ~ |
| | | Than stoop &and pick up pieces. |
| | | I knew a woman A once B ~ straight from Hell; |
| | | She’d lived &and loved &and not too well. |
| | | Her wings now fettered pinions were |
| | | And she was dead. To that I’ll swear. |
| | | She moved &and talked like you &and I |
| | | A but B But never did I hear a cry |
| | | Escape those lips. I wondered how |
| | | A she B She kept the smoothness on her brow. |
| | | I knew a woman once – a shell. |
| | | She came not from this world, but Hell. |
| | | (just because I adore it so.) |
| | | Strange, but a night ago I could not sleep; |
| | | I lay &and watched the motor lights pass by |
| | | and trace their pale &and transient yellowness |
| | | upon the black walls of my room. |
| | | Then as I turned in one last wild attempt |
| | | to calm my heart &and head by counting sheep, |
| | | another car went by and in the dark |
| | | a flame glistened &and grew. A petal flame |
| | | of smouldering fire sprang from a copper jug, |
| | | and then went out. Quick as it came |
| | | my mind had left the room of sleeplessness. |
| | | Straight, like an arrow flying through the air, |
| | | the essential me had gone, swift |
| | | as a thought, &and found a harmony |
| | | deeper than A words B thoughts or night or love. |
| | | An inner stillness came into my soul |
| | | as though a flower were growing in my heart |
| | | dissolving A me A my unrest &and bringing me |
| | | a oneness with the world. |
| | | · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · |
| | | But with this sleep so deep &and so profound |
| | | no vagueness seemed to come; |
| | | rather a keener sense of things that are. |
| | | (And if you’d call it dreaming, call it so; |
| | | but I would call it living.) |
| | | I sat before the fire &and saw the jugs |
| | | dance in the flickering light |
| | | until the dusk, &and then I rose |
| | | and round the room I went |
| | | to all the things I loved &and lingered there, |
| | | feeling them more than seeing. |
| | | Then to a window. It was darker now |
| | | and the lingering light was caught |
| | | in the wood-fringed bowl of water. |
| | | A Then B And on I went, from room to room this time |
| | | absorbing with my soul the atmosphere |
| | | and memorizing every line &and curve. |
| | | ‘Twas then I felt a fury in my breast, |
| | | And thus I A slept B woke A . B ~ A ~ B . |
| | | Straight from the clacking clamour |
| | | The clamour seemed to think of you |
| | | yet cared not for your pain. |
| | | You came with that soft frightened look |
| | | half-hesitant &and nervous |
| | | &and trembled lest my coat |
| | | Your first approach was slow, uncertain |
| | | and your speech had that same tone, |
| | | that still, sometimes, you use[.]sic |
| | | To be added to The A Sp† A ~ Spangled Unicorn |
| | | Grey cows, the moon &and the small white doves |
| | | Fire-escapes, the shrieks of smothered woman |
| | | and all the young rhinos in mud. |
| | | Oh alas only the young can tell |
| | | and they do not guess the value of their secret. |
| | | They keep it to themselves as they lollop |
| | | like so many donkeys on the Portsmouth beach. |
| | | Poor Aunt Sophie &and the A the A ~ holiday spirit. |
| | | She always pulled out her plate with toffee |
| | | and we thought she was being so clever. |
| | | The myriad pebbles that A I A ~ cut your bare feet |
| | | have souls of their own longing for understanding |
| | | But A w A ~ all we think is Why hasn’t A Bournemouth B Porstsmouth got sands? |
| | | They would be longing for |
| | | red beef A insta A ~ instead |
| | | If they knew that this sausage |
| | | Slanting Beams over My Head |
| | | Slanting beams over my head |
| | | and clay on a tressle table A . A ~ – |
| | | and I had worked hard all day. |
| | | my arms were bare up to the elbow |
| | | and all the time I talked &and bit my lip. |
| | | Then, [unexpectantly]sicunexpectedly, from down below |
| | | and I relaxed &and answered yes. |
| | | My great friend, Marjorie |
| | | came running up the stairs – |
| | | She sat &and did neat hemstitching, |
| | | while I modelled a figure. |
| | | And as I worked I wondered at her life |
| | | her neatness &and conventions. |
| | | poignant with another’s feelings |
| | | nor looked at pictures that |
| | | She is a perfect person for a wife |
| | | I thought &and with one move |
| | | Earth that I Love, Burst into Colour |
| | | Earth that I love, burst into colour, |
| | | draw from the rainbow its many shades. |
| | | Could I but have the four seasons together – |
| | | the snow as back groundbackground for the blazing flowers; |
| | | the trees some green, some maple red |
| | | could burst herself this year |
| | | could bathe itself in borrowed colour. |
| | | To the Music of / The Accent on Youth |
| | | I’ve kept it within my heart. |
| | | since the Fates made us part |
| | | And now your song has lost its rhythm &and only the / meaning’s there. |
| | | I kept it for years &and years |
| | | &and tho’though your song is spattered |
| | | the rhythm &and the meaning vanished one sacred / moonlit night. |
| | | now hides in my thrilling breast |
| | | has now found a place to rest |
| | | and though I can’t be true to two loves, I can be / true to one – |
| | | We walked a mile &and tuppence |
| | | To the shrine of Old King Cole |
| | | And planted beds of hiccoughs |
| | | And ate our haddock WHOLE! |
| | | We talked with sun-burned horsemen |
| | | Your sorrow cries to me from every wall, |
| | | and I inhale it in the [the ]sicoutside air. |
| | | You have no secret hidden from this place |
| | | that you have loved &and lived in. |
| | | Every joy &and every piercing pain |
| | | has been absorbed by all the sticks &and stones |
| | | and corners of your home; |
| | | so tho’though I come for peace &and quiet &and beauty |
| | | the atmosphere will shriek to me of pain |
| | | and if I turn to you to rescue me |
| | | I’ll find it in the still depth of your eyes. |
| | | XIIIWhy Do You Sigh Like the Slender Birch Tree |
| | | Why do you sigh like the slender birch tree |
| | | Why do you clasp your hands when we’re alone |
| | | You, who in crowds walk with a gay abandon, |
| | | you, who in crowds talk with an easy grace |
| | | to all those near you, why when I am with you |
| | | do strained hands seek your face? |
| | | A movement sorrowful &and wearier than our pale moon |
| | | grieving in unpenetrable A bul A ~ blue. |
| | | You, who in crowds laugh as tho’though life were happy |
| | | When not in crowds half smile &and yet half cry. |
| | | When winter comes if you are still in torment, |
| | | be like the birch tree, shed all your leaves &and die. |
| | | .Sharp Thin Needles in My Face |
| | | Sharp thin needles in my face |
| | | sharp thin needles &and the moon |
| | | The taste of the wind is bitter |
| | | Butbut the feel of the wind is fresh |
| | | Andand in the moonlight’s glitter |
| | | I wince as I touch his flesh. |
| | | A ~ D [Dechacord]sicDecachord . |
| | | ○You were a Flame that Sprang into My Night |
| | | You were a flame that sprang into my night |
| | | making the skies take on a darker glow. |
| | | A trumpet call, poignant &and A shill A ~ |
| | | that pierced my heart, armoured by many loves. |
| | | Invulnerable I was, I sang my song |
| | | of glittering metal – flung it on the air – |
| | | an air grown chill &and cold so that my song |
| | | clinked through it as through ice. |
| | | I had become akin to carrion crow |
| | | spiritually one with every morning cock; |
| | | shed from myself wherever I might pass |
| | | a steely blue hinting of [oft’]sicoft used swords. |
| | | I had known sorrow once, perhaps too well. |
| | | Sorrow a liquid thing had made me soft. |
| | | Then came a blow, the hardest blow of all |
| | | that hardened liquid sorrow into hate. |
| | | You were a flame that scorched my ice-bound heart |
| | | leaving a scar of white upon it there – |
| | | a period of loving, then you went. |
| | | Armoured &and moated now my heart is safe. |
| | | The Grey &and Yellow Bird. |
| | | Your soft greyness &and warm yellow wings have left me – |
| | | left me because my heart froze over night. |
| | | It was your haven – warm once. |
| | | When first the wind crept in |
| | | you shivered &and hid your head, |
| | | that tufted golden head under a wing of grey. |
| | | I felt strange things were happening |
| | | but, in the detached way of youth |
| | | I went on singing, swinging – unaware |
| | | of the nearness of migration. |
| | | But now &and then in my song |
| | | I would hear something strangely discordant; |
| | | and too, overhead, a A dark B ~ cloud would foregather &and / pass. |
| | | Then last night the rude wind |
| | | broke down my defenses, my doors |
| | | &and the glass of my windows. |
| | | It whistled &and whined till the A first B ~ |
| | | who was nearing, hearing [it’s]sicits sighs |
| | | hurried to numb it from pain. |
| | | My heart froze: my bird flew. |
| | | Inconsequential tho’though this thought may be |
| | | I long to face a vast eternity |
| | | as we that night when looking at the lake |
| | | knew that at last our hearts could never break. |
| | | I have found a depth that has known my soul |
| | | and enveloped me close with night, |
| | | and my pale hands gleam in the single beam |
| | | of a moon that is dim with fright. |
| | | I have found a cave that has welcomed me |
| | | by surrounding itself with moss |
| | | and my heart is still with a peace until |
| | | my devil-man sings of my loss. |
| | | Then I raise my eyes &and my eyeballs stretch |
| | | A And B and my soul cries out in [it’s]sicits pain |
| | | and I take my heart &and tear it apart |
| | | till my devil-man stops again. |
| | | You may consider that I spend my time |
| | | on useless things – dreaming all day |
| | | You may consider that I waste my voice |
| | | on idle songs, singing my way |
| | | through even sharpest pain. |
| | | You could not know the beauty of a dream, |
| | | the rapture of the drinking earth |
| | | and being near when buds have birth, |
| | | You could not know the rhythm of a song |
| | | A & B of notes suspended clear in air. |
| | | Oh! surely there is beauty there – |
| | | I cannot write a single thing! |
| | | I start with birds upon the wing |
| | | and find I end with soup. |
| | | The words are stuck inside the pen. |
| | | If you know how I hate the men- |
| | | tal strain of it when life |
| | | Sensations grow inside my breast |
| | | &and tho’though I sit down fully dressed |
| | | The muse has left me so they say. |
| | | To come again another day? |
| | | ○○We Sang a Song, a Happy Song |
| | | We sang a song, a happy song |
| | | when through the autumn woods we walked that / day. |
| | | It was a misty day, soft &and hazy |
| | | as tho’though the trees were draped in floating chiffon. |
| | | Then I would stop, &and halting in my song, |
| | | uncover toadstools pink, afraid &and naked. |
| | | Then on we’d go &and you’d say Feel this moss. |
| | | How soft &and thick it is. for years it must have / grown here. |
| | | And I would look at you &and find no words |
| | | &and stumble on too tremulous for speaking. |
| | | Now there’s another toadstool, strawberry red |
| | | with just A another B a tiny quiver of it showing. |
| | | So down upon your hands &and knees you went |
| | | &and lifted soggy leaves until the whole |
| | | glowed like a lamp, alone &and passionate |
| | | I A squelched A ~ squashed a puff ball &and I watched / the dust |
| | | [cinammon]siccinnamon coloured falling through the air, |
| | | then flicked the empty sack into the woods. |
| | | The world was quiet &and A ~ B still &and so we felt |
| | | A mingli A ~ , united with this universe. |
| | | And raised our eyes &and didn’t even smile. |
| | | Damp flowers crushed by hot hands |
| | | &and little drops of water on the glass. |
| | | You were in the morning light |
| | | and only silver saw you there; |
| | | I was standing in the night, |
| | | but night &and I both found you fair. |
| | | You were silent, lips apart, |
| | | rapturously aloof, alone; |
| | | but you touched my trembling heart. |
| | | Now all ugliness has flown |
| | | from this saddest of all lives, |
| | | one that’s known as melancholy |
| | | suddenly I saw the folly. |
| | | I renounced all solitude, |
| | | showed the sun my shrivelled heart. |
| | | Who’d have thought a silver nude |
| | | could have made me live for art? |
| | | Within my heart there is a peace until |
| | | the wind howls &and the windows rattle loud. |
| | | Within my heart there is a peace until |
| | | the ducks A sail B fly by – a brown &and feathered cloud; |
| | | or till a A lake B stream turns silver, |
| | | or the trees have autumn hues, |
| | | or walking in the country |
| | | the light &and darkness fuse. |
| | | My heart is still &and quiet |
| | | till the light of crackling logs |
| | | reflects in burnished copper, |
| | | So quiet it is when Springtime |
| | | first dances on the trees – |
| | | such things as that don’t move it |
| | | but it is moved by these: |
| | | gay music in the A morning B evening , |
| | | or bright A ~ B coloured striped china-ware, |
| | | mud-heavy boots in doorways |
| | | &and tousled wind-blown hair. |
| | | But I would sooner lose the peace |
| | | become immune to things we loved |
| | | I cannot sleep tonight with loving you |
| | | &and thinking of that gentle way you had: |
| | | of how you taught me all the little things |
| | | about the birds: A down B Down that lane you held my hand; |
| | | we walked so gaily singing as we went; |
| | | we thought life one long Spring. For you it is – |
| | | No more will Winter’s snows upon you fall, |
| | | no more will icy hills prevent your feet |
| | | from walking in your dear abandoned way. |
| | | Has Cleopatra kissed your dusty eyes &and made them / live? |
| | | or did you wake to lie in Helen’s arms? |
| | | I dare not think &and yet I cannot stop. |
| | | My lips will go on whispering the phrase |
| | | .It Did Not Matter What We Said |
| | | It did not matter what we said, |
| | | It did not matter what we ate, |
| | | for habits were such things apart |
| | | from A et A ~ our eternal soul. |
| | | And one &and all we worshipped art |
| | | But now that we are twice as old |
| | | with youth’s wild fervour spent, |
| | | we choose our hats with special care |
| | | and smile to see the modern youth |
| | | and laugh about their quest for truth. |
| | | Our minds are poles apart. |
| | | .Was It Tender? Was It Sad? |
| | | Was it tender? was it sad? |
| | | or weary? That soft way you had. |
| | | Was I foolish, too profound? |
| | | Searching for a deeper ground |
| | | Who can [analize]sicanalyze the past? |
| | | Time does hurry so. How fast |
| | | all our joys have hurried by |
| | | when you were you &and I was I. |
| | | The din of a small room is mighty. |
| | | Mightier far than machinery. |
| | | The small boy turns papers of his book. |
| | | He moans &and kicks his feet |
| | | &and screams with temper, |
| | | What A do A ~ d’we want Latin for? |
| | | The man sits A weerily B wearily in his chair, |
| | | yet not too weary to read aloud. |
| | | His voice rises &and falls |
| | | as he competes with his [sons]sicson’s screams. |
| | | She sits there, cutting cardboard, |
| | | flicking ash on the floor. |
| | | Even the noise of the ash is loud[.]sic |
| | | as it drops &and crumbles. |
| | | [It’s]sicIts crumbling brings the noise of decay |
| | | Relaxed, his head on his paws |
| | | the dog lies – his fleshy lips |
| | | raised. He snores, A lip A ~ his lips twitch. |
| | | The radio blares the news |
| | | Sounds, half audible in the normal quiet |
| | | become intensified. The pencil wails |
| | | the scissors screech, a half dead fly |
| | | lies feebly on its back. [It’s]sicIts gentle buzz |
| | | is amplified &and deafening. And so it goes |
| | | till sound, that fiery, sharp-tongued demon |
| | | has branded deep, a pattern in my brain. |
| | | This week I have been busy. Every day |
| | | has run into the next on wingèd feet, |
| | | but feet grown tired &and heavy in the race. |
| | | There was no single tic on time’s mad clock |
| | | that I could hold as mine. Each frenzied hour |
| | | bore me to other hours as wild &and full. |
| | | Only the night was given me for peace |
| | | to soothe my overworked A machinery B distracted head, |
| | | before there crept another evil day |
| | | on toes of palest pink &and gentle dawn. |
| | | [indent] Today I A walked B waked &and all the world was mine. |
| | | The fine-ground sunshine falling on the floor |
| | | I could relax in – stay! I’ll drink my fill. |
| | | There was no little thing that should be done. |
| | | I yawned a smile &and stretched myself from bed. |
| | | I walked all morning through the muddy woods |
| | | and smoked my cigarette right to the stub. |
| | | Then home for lunch – no hurried sandwich this – |
| | | a lazy meal from coloured linen mats. |
| | | [indent] This afternoon I called a friend of mine, |
| | | a special friend whom I’d not seen all week. |
| | | We walked &and talked &and sang &and then were quiet, |
| | | and laughed with joy at silly happy things |
| | | until it seemed that joy had too much pain |
| | | and that too strong a love was worse than none |
| | | by showing up the lesser loves as cold |
| | | and worthless things too trivial to keep. |
| | | It seemed to me that I had but one friend, |
| | | one friend worth calling friend, whose heart was / whole. |
| | | And so I took to brooding through the night |
| | | on loneliness that vast eternity |
| | | that could be bridged by one &and only one. |
| | | I think my days are better when they’re full. |
| | | O dear Mamma, the daughter cried, |
| | | I’m on the phone[.]sic, the Ma replied. |
| | | But Ma, I need some stockings now, |
| | | As quick as quick can be. |
| | | So if you please just tell me how |
| | | To find some pronto. See? |
| | | I’m talking to the grocer’s wife[]sic, |
| | | The mother whispered low. |
| | | Why Ethel dear, to save me life |
| | | Each pair’s a hole, the daughter said, |
| | | Mamma said growing slightly red, |
| | | You’ll drive me to the drink! |
| | | Me darnin’ bag may hold a pair. |
| | | She points &and then in phone |
| | | Beg pardon. I just had a scare. |
| | | Twenty years &and what to show? |
| | | Two red lips, a faithless beau; |
| | | massive girth; a case of books; |
| | | little in the way of looks; |
| | | a lot of hope &and some despair; |
| | | a longing for real raven hair; |
| | | a published poem; one love-letter; |
| | | a pair of shoulders which are better |
| | | for weeping on than wearing dresses; |
| | | an English voice which over-stresses |
| | | superlatives &and ejaculations; |
| | | little interest in the nations’ |
| | | arguments &and threats of fighting; |
| | | two large hands forever lighting |
| | | cigarettes with ceaseless motion; |
| | | &and crazy longing for the ocean[]sic. |
| | | A hatred for tight shoulder straps – |
| | | and worst of all – I’m death in caps! |
| | | When twenty years have gone again |
| | | Will I have something more by then? |
| | | He held a full-blown rose |
| | | Neath’neath her retroussé nose |
| | | And sighed he would that he |
| | | That caused his love to care |
| | | O’er heardO’erheard his ardent sigh |
| | | And changed him to the rose |
| | | Beneath his loved one’s nose. |
| | | Died, and was thrown away. |
| | | that you didn’t – intimately. |
| | | But too seldom to get rid |
| | | of that fear that clutched your heart, |
| | | of that fear that made you start |
| | | when she drifted through a wall |
| | | straight from nowhere. Made you fall |
| | | shaking in a A cove A ~ cushioned chair |
| | | while she smoothed her windblown hair. |
| | | Had you known her you would see |
| | | &and happiness. She cast a spell |
| | | of hopefulness. Ah you could tell |
| | | she came from some far-distant spot |
| | | which knows not tears nor fear. Knows not |
| | | the bitterness of earth-bound life, |
| | | the weariness of constant strife. |
| | | Last time she came her gentle smile |
| | | was touched with softness all the while. |
| | | She talked to me &and held my hand |
| | | and tried to make me understand |
| | | this was not all. I was depressed |
| | | and most of all I wanted rest. |
| | | She kissed me as she shut the door. |
| | | But now – she’s gone. She comes no more. |
| | | Now A solitude is B solitude’s to help the soul |
| | | But loneliness I rather think’s |
| | | It eats the heart &and turns the face |
| | | Now hollow-eyed &and grey |
| | | To nothing but an aged mask |
| | | I sit at a table playing bridge |
| | | with a manner that’s cool &and bright |
| | | and I play my cards with intelligence. |
| | | There’s a jagged edge to my heart to-night. |
| | | The bridge is over, we sit &and talk |
| | | on subjects amusing &and light. |
| | | I chatter with ease &and I make them laugh. |
| | | There’s a jagged edge on my heart tonight. |
| | | I am driven home in a slinky car |
| | | and the moon above is white. |
| | | And I even smile as I A shut the A ~ say goodbye – |
| | | There’s a jagged edge on my heart tonight. |
| | | ○○○Because You Go I Write This Song |
| | | Because you go I write this song |
| | | &and tell you that I hope your trip’s |
| | | eventful, bright &and gay. |
| | | But in my heart of hearts I find |
| | | no song is lurking there – |
| | | only a mournful little dirge |
| | | I’ve Written Rhymes and Songs and Verses |
| | | I’ve written rhymes &and songs &and verses, |
| | | splashed with ink &and muttered curses |
| | | every time I’ve pulled up roots, |
| | | trimmed with shears new budding shoots. |
| | | Times I’ve know when I have cried |
| | | kicked &and sobbed &and wished I’d died |
| | | when I’ve had to say goodbye |
| | | to people such as Bert &and Guy. |
| | | But when I said goodbye to you |
| | | casually I saw it through. |
| | | A Not one B Without a A sigh B tear orA tear B sigh or moan. |
| | | Back to the house I went alone, |
| | | Talked of dresses, coats &and hats, |
| | | of my fear of dark-winged bats; |
| | | led my normal routine life |
| | | without a single curse. No strife |
| | | Brother told me with a smile |
| | | Languidly I answered, Yep. |
| | | They’d understand, if they but knew |
| | | that A ~ B all my life left town with you. |
| | | &and I’ve known anaemic A sights A ~ men |
| | | but never in my course of seeing sights |
| | | have I known days become anaemic nights |
| | | until the time you flicked your casual ash |
| | | &and turned &and said My dear I’d better dash! |
| | | And then &and there, without much more ado, |
| | | you up &and went. I guess our love is through. |
| | | ⓧI See the Days Pass By When I Look Back |
| | | I see the days pass by when I look back |
| | | and every day was gladdened by your face. |
| | | Never an hour so dark you did not bring |
| | | Traces of sunshine seeping through the place. |
| | | Never a day, no never, as I think |
| | | was quite completely cast in sordid gloom. |
| | | for when I mused A dejectc A ~ dejectedly alone |
| | | I’d turn &and find you smiling in the room. |
| | | During the weary stretches of the night |
| | | Lying awake, alone, shrouded with sorrow |
| | | I’d sigh &and see upon the blackened walls |
| | | A in A ~ Written in lights, the single word Tomorrow. |
| | | Thus for a year I have been carried on |
| | | from day to day, balancing on your smile. |
| | | Now you are gone. Each future dawn looks grey. |
| | | Life will be weary through each you-less mile. |
| | | ⓧⓧThe Stubborn Rain Relentlessly Beats Down |
| | | The stubborn rain relentlessly beats down |
| | | &and makes the shoots of sorrow in my heart |
| | | grow up again with that old sharp fierce pain |
| | | I thought had gone. Is there no peace? |
| | | And when a thing is dead, is that not so? |
| | | Does it lie hidden, screaming to be born |
| | | &and so awake refreshed, anew to torture me again. |
| | | Why should so slight a thing as Springtime’s rain |
| | | quicken the withered roots so long since dead? |
| | | And why must I be miserable once more |
| | | because some fool who thought my heart was light |
| | | &and who has been forgotten many years |
| | | should A b A ~ haunt me in the sound of Springtime’s tears. |
| | | |The Vastness of the World Caught at My Soul and Stretched it to a Film |
| | | The vastness of the world caught at my soul &and stretched / it to a film. |
| | | It was so thin an idle thought could pierce it. |
| | | Lying relaxed I heard the worms a-crawling neath’neath / the grass; |
| | | lying outstretched I heard the earth revolving &and the / stars |
| | | twinkled with demon joy. Nothing too vast nor small |
| | | for my stretched soul to feel. Nothing [to]sictoo loud nor quiet. |
| | | Feebly I grasped for something to hold onto. |
| | | I was involved, enveloped by the abstract. |
| | | I sighed &and that soft sigh seemed like a howling wind / sweeping the earth. |
| | | A myriad voices whispered in my ear tormenting me. |
| | | They said, The world is yours, you’re free, awake / &and live. |
| | | I sighed again. This freedom is not all, I said, |
| | | ‘I want a tie to bind my life to some accustomed / course, |
| | | something so I can regulate my life – some deep / refrain |
| | | beating within my soul &and ordering my life to this &and that.[]sic’ |
| | | I was a child. How little did I know that A hes A ~ he who’s / free |
| | | is longing for a bond. And A hes A ~ he who’s tied longs for a quick / release; |
| | | that there will be no peace within the soul A so long as / minds A ~ |
| | | so long as minds turn with thoughts of freedom. |
| | | A Memory’s a Hateful Thing |
| | | A memory’s a hateful thing |
| | | smiles &and tears with every wind |
| | | Even the smallest thing – |
| | | brings to the mind the thought of days |
| | | the tree-tops swathed in gentle mist, |
| | | will conjure up with vividness |
| | | &and sorrows &and the memories |
| | | The [saxaphone’s]sicsaxophone’s wail caught the air. |
| | | Its barbed note clung there |
| | | the [zylaphone’s]sicxylophone’s ringing round note |
| | | soared &and seemed to float |
| | | &and fell. The air was herring-boned, |
| | | The [debutantes]sicdebutante’s lips smooth with joy |
| | | The sun, above the jarring noise |
| | | The [debutantes]sicdebutante’s carmine lips said, |
| | | The [skies]sicsky’s become red. |
| | | Lines, I said, dividing this &and that. |
| | | These lines which portion off |
| | | the things we want to keep, |
| | | a walking-stick, a bowler hat; |
| | | a boundary line; then drunken sleep. |
| | | The things we want to lose |
| | | and those we want to keep. |
| | | A line of silver, a mere pencil line, |
| | | wavery, weak; yet terrible &and strong. |
| | | These boundaries which draw the line |
| | | These veils that close us in A lik A ~ chiffon tents, |
| | | translucent &and tormenting |
| | | yet stubborn like the rock |
| | | that holds together tenements, |
| | | yet doing so it holds a power – |
| | | the strength of lines &and veils |
| | | that keeps us in our corner, |
| | | tethered between our rails. |
| | | III Woke to See a Dawn – Tremulous, Soft |
| | | I woke to see a dawn – tremulous, soft – |
| | | saw with my being more than with my eyes |
| | | the earliness &and holiness of day. |
| | | But as I watched a hand fell on my heart |
| | | &and tears came to my eyes so sad I was. |
| | | I saw the sunrise – it was rainbow-hued – |
| | | saw with my eyes alone. My body now |
| | | became a Temple for my sorrowing heart. |
| | | I watched a birth but wept because of death |
| | | then tried to soothe myself by saying, Day |
| | | dies every night to be reborn at morn, |
| | | the flowers die every fall to bloom again in Spring |
| | | all, all must end before new birth can be. |
| | | But sorrow made me seem as one apart |
| | | from all my reasoning, from every thought. |
| | | From every thought but one – that you must go. |
| | | The sun had risen now &and it was day. |
| | | I stared &and then I quietly turned away. |
| | | IIIMist, Like Floating Chiffon, Swathed the World |
| | | Mist, like floating chiffon, swathed the world |
| | | &and swirled in eddies of unrest. |
| | | I raked cut grass that smelt of spring &and hope |
| | | a dope for a mind grown depressed. |
| | | The rhythmical movement made my arms |
| | | &and forms merge in a common beat. |
| | | Ancient dances on a village green |
| | | were seen to me. Bare were my feet. |
| | | A Bandage for the Surface Intrusion &and then Some. |
| | | (A reply to Surface Intrusion by M.P.H.) |
| | | Often in this world of changing fantasies &and dreams |
| | | one crashes, eyes aglare, upon bright lights |
| | | that stretch the eye ballseyeballs into flinty fossils, |
| | | changing all that’s seen into ice-bound A sh A ~ schemes |
| | | for knowing people better. There are nights |
| | | when chemical reactions will set in &and show |
| | | the chosen one a thing they did not know. |
| | | No more the eyes are fossils &and no more |
| | | the heart surrounded with a wall &and moat |
| | | is strong in its detached security. |
| | | But that is seldom &and the present shore |
| | | that people stand upon is treacherous. They / gloat |
| | | &and say: Ha, ha, we know the thing she is, |
| | | a roundabout, a swing susceptible to / breezes. |
| | | There is a hidden cave in every soul |
| | | where shrouded in the dark the spirit grows |
| | | matures &and oft gives easy birth to stronger thoughts |
| | | than these, that on the whole |
| | | perhaps may prove a weapon to one’s foes. |
| | | The thought is predecessor to the deed |
| | | &and only empty heads will ever need. |
| | | [indent] Once in this world of fantasies &and dreams |
| | | there was a time when e’en the warp &and woof |
| | | of each emotion was exposed to view, |
| | | &and thus it was that all those ice bound schemes |
| | | were put to use &and were a proof |
| | | of what the general horde considered queer |
| | | &and all but one or two stood back in fear. |
| | | [indent] There is a time for laughter &and for crying |
| | | there is a time for thoughtfulness &and song |
| | | (so taught the moon, that hazy saffron light.) |
| | | And wearily I say There’s need of much / denying |
| | | the soul &and body in its normal course, so long |
| | | as fingers of the maples turn bloody in the fall. |
| | | That’s why I laugh in public through it all. |
| | | Pity the moon-child lost in A fog A ~ mist, |
| | | white flowers pinned in her dark black hair, |
| | | she who has walked on moon beams long |
| | | &and breathed only silvered air. |
| | | Pity the moon-child – pale face shining, |
| | | long A f A ~ slim fingers around her knees, |
| | | eyes like velvety deep dark caverns |
| | | lighted with stars of fire, for she’s |
| | | needful of moonbeams who was born |
| | | under the full [moons]sicmoon’s light, |
| | | of a mother wooed by a leprechaun |
| | | Pity the moon-child now no trace |
| | | of moon-beams A of A ~ pierces the mist; |
| | | pity the moon-child sitting there, |
| | | her face by the moon unkist. |
| | | She who has caught the moon’s bright light |
| | | &and dressed herself in its sheen, |
| | | she who has danced to pipes of pan – |
| | | a beautiful silver queen. |
| | | Weep for the moon-child, hear her moan, |
| | | lost in the fog &and cold – alone. |
| | | I Knew Not Living Till You Came |
| | | I knew not living till you came |
| | | A With crinkly eyes A ~ Nor realized the world was fair |
| | | That crocuses were like a flame. |
| | | I knew not living till you came |
| | | Nor knew the magic of your name |
| | | your sparkling eyes &and shining hair. |
| | | I knew not living till you came |
| | | Nor realized the world was fair. |
| | | Stark &and strong the A moosewoods A ~ moosewood grows |
| | | Defying [youngs Spring]sicyoung Spring’s ugly moods |
| | | A It is not lovely like the A ~ |
| | | Her A wild A ~ strong A wild B harsh winds, tempestuous snows |
| | | It is not lovely like the rose |
| | | A But B ~ A blossoms B buds B ~ A alone in the trees B ~ |
| | | A ~ B But blossoms lonely through the woods. |
| | | Stark &and strong the moosewood grows |
| | | Defying young [Springs]sicSpring’s ugly moods. |
| | | NOTES ON RHYTHM AND METRE |
| | | NOTES ON THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL AND THE MERCHANT OF VENICE |
| | | NOTES ON THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL |
| | | NOTES ON THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL |
| | | NOTES ON THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL |
| | | NOTES ON THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL |
| | | The Clock upon the Station Stands |
| | | A The clock B ~ A is loud with hungry ticks B ~ |
| | | A ~ B The clock A ~ B upon the A ~ B landing B station A ~ B stands |
| | | Unconscious that A our time is short B it strikes our doom . |
| | | One moment while he holds my hands. |
| | | The clock upon the A landing B station stands |
| | | Unconsciously it breaks the bands |
| | | That A hold B bind us close within the A room B gloom . |
| | | The clock upon the A landing B station stands |
| | | A Unconc A ~ Unconscious that it strikes our doom. |
| | | NOTES ON THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL |
| | | To an Heiress. / Symphony of Senses. / Crisis: Sept. 21 Canadian Poetry Magazine |
| | | Light & Shade / Domesticity: Harriet Munro – Chicago Sept. 21 |
| | | The Blackbird Sings upon the Bough |
| | | The blackbird sings upon the bough |
| | | The sky above is crystal blue |
| | | for joyous spring is present now |
| | | The blackbird sings upon the bough |
| | | The farmer’s working with his plough |
| | | But I can only think of you. |
| | | The blackbird sings upon the bough |
| | | The sky above is crystal blue. |
| | | You Never Knew that Night in May |
| | | You never knew that night in May |
| | | My heart was but a barren land. |
| | | A You didn’t know, I didn’t say B I felt it was the simplest way |
| | | You never knew that night in May |
| | | There was no future though you stay |
| | | And kiss my lips &and hold my hand. |
| | | You never knew that night in May |
| | | My heart was but a barren land. |
| | | She has Strength in Her Mind |
| | | She has strength in her mind |
| | | She has love in her heart |
| | | And though fate may be cruel |
| | | for the right in her life conquers wrong. |
| | | A Yes solitude A ~ A f A ~ A is for the soul A ~ |
| | | A &and necessary too A ~ |
| | | A but loneliness – another thing A ~ |
| | | A ~ A Now solitude’s to help the soul |
| | | A ~ A To soar expand &and grow |
| | | A ~ A But loneliness I rather think’s |
| | | It eats the heart &and turns the face |
| | | A That’s B Now hollow eyed &and grey |
| | | To nothing but an aged mask |
| | | If He’d Told Me I’d Have Said |
| | | If he’d A asked B told me I’d have said |
| | | Let me sock him on the head |
| | | With a pint of boiling lead. |
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