Dreams poems
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The Reply Of The Fountain
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
HOW deep within each human heart,
A thousand treasured feelings lie;
Things precious, delicate, apart,
Too sensitive for human eye.
Another barbeque tonight
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It rained throughout the night, a truly welcome sound
that eases sleep although we barely slept we were
distressed by other things. Today the kitchens centre ring,
the kitchen of Anitas dreams. Its had a long gestation,
And The Piper Dreams
© Ivan Donn Carswell
And the Piper dreams as he pipes up in his mind
colours in choral horizons distant, of courtliness dimmed in time,
at the puddling waters edge he stands spread square and neat
and blows a lambent dirge, a frisson to the hatchling-surf
The Farewell to Clarimonde
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me.
Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
Thy hungering heart forever must regret me,
And starve for those lost moments of delight.
A catchy phrase
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It was called Farm Fantastic, a catchy phrase,
and potentially a days wasted sweat.
Even after the event I cant say it wasnt,
and Im kind of glad we went, for better
Sojourns in the Parallel World
© Denise Levertov
We live our lives of human passions,
cruelties, dreams, concepts,
crimes and the exercise of virtue
in and beside a world devoid
A Fuedal Picture
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WITH what a grace she passed us by just now!
Her delicate chin half raised, her cordial brow
Sound Sleep
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Some are laughing, some are weeping;
She is sleeping, only sleeping.
Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;
There the wind is heaping, heaping
Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping.
By the corn-fields ripe for reaping.
An Embroidery
© Denise Levertov
Rose Red's hair is brown as fur
and shines in firelight as she prepares
supper of honey and apples, curds and whey,
for the bear, and leaves it ready
on the hearth-stone.
Crumble-Hall
© Mary Leapor
When Friends or Fortune frown on Mira's Lay,
Or gloomy Vapours hide the Lamp of Day;
With low'ring Forehead, and with aching Limbs,
Oppress'd with Head-ach, and eternal Whims,
Sad Mira vows to quit the darling Crime:
Yet takes her Farewel, and Repents, in Rhyme.
A Tree Telling of Orpheus
© Denise Levertov
Fire he sang, that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames.
New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer.
As though his lyre (now I knew its name) were both frost and fire, its chords flamed up to the crown of me.
Losing Track
© Denise Levertov
Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me:
The Dream of Eugene Aram
© Thomas Hood
'Twas in the prime of summer-time
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school:
There were some that ran and some that leapt,
Like troutlets in a pool.
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 07: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light
© Conrad Aiken
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema
© Conrad Aiken
The music ends. The screen grows dark. We hurry
To go our devious secret ways, forgetting
Those many lives . . . We loved, we laughed, we killed,
We danced in fire, we drowned in a whirl of sea-waves.
The flutes are stilled, and a thousand dreams are stilled.
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 05: The Bitter Love-Song
© Conrad Aiken
Sharp shafts of music dazzled my eyes and pierced me.
I ran and turned and spun and danced in the sunlight,
Shrank, sometimes, from the freezing silence of beauty,
Or crept once more to the warm white cave of sleep.
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 04: Counterpoint: Two Rooms
© Conrad Aiken
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
She, in the room belowhis floor her ceiling
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . .
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night,
The Banks Of Wye - Book I
© Robert Bloomfield
No butler's proxies snore supine,
Where the old monarch kept his wine;
No Welch ox roasting, horns and all,
Adorns his throng'd and laughing hall;
But where he pray'd, and told his beads,
A thriving ash luxuriant spreads.
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 03: Palimpsest: A Deceitful Portrait
© Conrad Aiken
Or 'one day dies eventless as another,
Leaving the seeker still unsatisfied,
And more convinced life yields no satisfaction'?
Or 'seek too hard, the sight at length grows callous,
And beauty shines in vain'?
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 01: Clairvoyant
© Conrad Aiken
'This envelope you say has something in it
Which once belonged to your dead sonor something
He knew, was fond of? Something he remembers?
The soul flies far, and we can only call it
By things like these . . . a photograph, a letter,
Ribbon, or charm, or watch . . . '
