All Poems
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The Gyres
© William Butler Yeats
THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth;
Things thought too long can be no longer thought,
Cana
© Louise Gluck
Forsythia
by the roadside, by
wet rocks, on the embankments
underplanted with hyacinth --
The Silver Lily
© Louise Gluck
The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
Of early spring, and quiet again. Will
Speech disturb you? We're
Alone now; we have no reason for silence.
The Night-Blooming Cereus
© Harriet Monroe
FLOWER of the moon!
Still white is her brow whom we worshiped on earth long ago;
Yea, purer than pearls in deep seas, and more virgin than snow.
The dull years veil their eyes from her shining, and vanish afraid,
Nor profane her with agethe immortal, nor dim her with shade.
Castile
© Louise Gluck
I met my love under an orange tree
or was it an acacia tree
or was he not my love?
A Poet's Epitaph
© Madison Julius Cawein
LIFE was unkind to him;
All things went wrong:
Fortune assigned to him
Merely a song.
Two Songs Of Spain
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Fountain, cans't thou sing the song
My Juan sang to me
Circe's Torment
© Louise Gluck
I regret bitterly
The years of loving you in both
Your presence and absence, regret
The law, the vocation
A Song of Truce
© Robert Fuller Murray
Till the tread of marching feet
Through the quiet grass-grown street
Of the little town shall come,
Soldier, rest awhile at home.
Poem
© Louise Gluck
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending
over his writing table.
Slowly he lifts his head; a woman
appears, carrying roses.
Her face floats to the surface of the mirror,
marked with the green spokes of rose stems.
Dedication To Wilfred And Alice Meynell
© Francis Thompson
If the rose in meek duty
May dedicate humbly
Retreating Wind
© Louise Gluck
As I get further away from you
I see you more clearly.
Your souls should have been immense by now,
not what they are,
small talking things--
The Eternal
© Edith Nesbit
Your dear desired grace,
Your hands, your lips of red,
The wonder of your perfect face
Will fade, like sweet rose-petals shed,
When you are dead.
Parable Of Faith
© Louise Gluck
He is not
duplicitous; he has tried to be
true to the moment; is there another way of being
true to the self?
Matins
© Louise Gluck
You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
to be weeding. You ought to know
I'm never weeding, on my knees, pulling
A Reading Of Life--With The Persuader
© George Meredith
So is it sung in any space
She fills, with laugh at shallow laws
Forbidding love's devised embrace,
The music Beauty from it draws.
The Untrustworthy Speaker
© Louise Gluck
I know myself; I've learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
When I speak passionately,
That's when I'm least to be trusted.
Intrusion
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
I BUILT myself a pleasant house.
Content was I to dwell in it--
Its door was fast against the wind
With all the gusty swell of it.
The Pond
© Louise Gluck
Night covers the pond with its wing.
Under the ringed moon I can make out
your face swimming among minnows and the small
echoing stars. In the night air
the surface of the pond is metal.
To Mary Anning
© John Kenyon
Thee, Mary! first 'twas lightning struck,
And then a water-vat half drowned;
