Life poems
/ page 381 of 844 /Himself
© Alice Guerin Crist
Last night, when I was listeninÂ’
Alone, to wind and rain,
He took the chair beside me,
Himself - come home again.
Letter to My Lover After Seven Years
© Erica Jong
You gave me the child
that seamed my belly
& stitched up my life.
The Secret
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
I lay upon my bed in the great night:
The sense of my body drowsed;
But a clearness yet lingered in the spirit,
By soft obscurity housed.
Une Gravure Fantastique (A Fantastic Engraving)
© Charles Baudelaire
The horseman's flaming sword, as on they rush,
Fells victims that his steed has failed to crush,
And, like a prince inspecting his domain,
He scans the graveyard's limitless chill plain
Where, in a dull white sun's exhausted light,
Lies every race since man emerged from night.
Dear Colette
© Erica Jong
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
Autumn Perspective
© Erica Jong
Now we plan, postponing, pushing our lives forward
into the future--as if, when the room
contains us and all our treasured junk
we will have filled whatever gap it is
that makes us wander, discontented
from ourselves.
Costanza
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
She knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell
Thro' the stain'd window of her lonely cell,
And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow
Flushing her cheek and pale Madonna brow,
After the Earthquake
© Erica Jong
After the first astounding rush,
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .
i wrote a life
© Billy John Hope
this might be the swan song
i have traveled beyond misty mountains
spilled my seed on the hungry rock
hallowed days
Eurydice
© James Russell Lowell
Heaven's cup held down to me I drain,
The sunshine mounts and spurs my brain;
The Stars Are Mansions Built By Nature's Hand
© William Wordsworth
The stars are mansions built by Nature's hand,
And, haply, there the spirits of the blest
Orpheus
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
What wondrous sound is that, mournful and faint,
But more melodious than the murmuring wind
Which through the columns of a temple glides?
For A Virgin And Child By Hans Memmelinck
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
(In the Academy of Bruges)
MYSTERY: God, man's life, born into man
Rod Quinn
© John Le Gay Brereton
How many years, how many years have fled,
Since in the cool dim parlour sat the three
The Light Wraps You
© Pablo Neruda
The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twighlight
that revolves around you.