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465

Music Swims Back To Me

© Anne Sexton

Wait Mister. Which way is home?
They turned the light out
and the dark is moving in the corner.
There are no sign posts in this room,

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

© Anne Sexton

No matter what life you lead
the virgin is a lovely number:
cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper,
arms and legs made of Limoges,

Just Once

© Anne Sexton

Just once I knew what life was for.
In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood;
walked there along the Charles River,
watched the lights copying themselves,

Love is the part, and love is the whole;
Love is the robe, and love is the pall;
Ruler of heart and brain and soul,
Love is the lord and the slave of all!
I thank thee, Love, that thou lov'st me;
I thank thee more that I love thee.

Sylvia's Death

© Anne Sexton

for Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors

Good-Night

© Edward Thomas

The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down;
I can hear no more those suburb nightingales;
Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town
In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails.

Cinderella

© Anne Sexton

You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

The Magic Mulligan

© Arthur Chapman

A rider from the Two-Bar come with news from off the range:

He said he's seen a dust cloud that looked almighty strange,

He Had So Much Work To Do

© Henry Lawson

Jim was trucking for a sawmill to make money for the home,
He was making, out of Mudgee, for the family to come,
And a load-chain snapped the switch-bar, and Black Anderson found Jim,
In the morning, in a creek-bed, with a log on top of him.

To A Friend Concerning Several Ladies

© William Carlos Williams

And in the marshes
the crickets run
on the sunny dike's top and
make burrows there, the water
reflects the reeds and the reeds
move on their stalks and rattle drily.

Begging Aid

© David Rubadiri

Whilst our children

England

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

CLOUD-GIRDED land, brave land beyond the sea!
Land of my father's love! how oft I yearn
Toward thy famed ancestral shores to turn,
Roaming thy glorious realm in liberty;

A Celebration

© William Carlos Williams

A middle-northern March, now as always
gusts from the South broken against cold winds
but from under, as if a slow hand lifted a tide,
it movesnot into Aprilinto a second March,

from "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower"

Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup
upon its branching stem-
save that it's green and wooden-

Horas Vivas

Noite: abrem-se as flores . . .
Que esplendores!
Cíntia sonha seus amores
Pelo céu.

The Oats

Here I stand with tinkling bells galore,
Twenty on each straw, I think, or more.
But the farmer, bless his honest soul,
Calls me oats and speaks of twenty fold.

The Princess (part 2)

At break of day the College Portress came:

She brought us Academic silks, in hue

A Patriot

It's funny when a feller wants to do his little bit,
And wants to wear a uniform and lug a soldier's kit,
And ain't afraid of submarines nor mines that fill the sea,
They will not let him go along to fight for liberty
They make him stay at home and be his mother's darling pet,
But you can bet there'll come a time when they will want me yet.