Life poems
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Love And War
© Arthur Patchett Martin
THE CHANCELLOR mused as he nibbled his pen
(Sure no Minister ever looked wiser),
The Touchstone
© Edith Nesbit
There was a garden, very strange and fair
With all the roses summer never brings.
The snowy blossom of immortal Springs
Lighted its boughs, and I, even I, was there.
There were new heavens, and the earth was new,
And still I told my heart the dream was true.
Argentile and Curan. - extracted from Albion's England
© William Warner
The Brutons thus departed hence, seaven kingdoms here begonne,
Where diversly in divers broyls the Saxons lost and wonne.
Dream Song 21: Some good people, daring & subtle voices
© John Berryman
Some good people, daring & subtle voices
and their tense faces, as I think of it
I see sank underground.
I see. My radar digs. I do not dig.
Cool their flushing blood, them eyes is shutâ
eyes?
Monochromes
© Madison Julius Cawein
The last rose falls, wrecked of the wind and rain;
Where once it bloomed the thorns alone remain:
Dead in the wet the slow rain strews the rose.
The day was dim; now eve comes on again,
Grave as a life weighed down by many woes,--
So is the joy dead, and alive the pain.
Lyells Hypothesis Again
© Kenneth Rexroth
The mountain road ends here,
Broken away in the chasm where
Dream Song 74: Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry
© John Berryman
Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry
did will not bear thought.
Feeling no pain,
Henry stabbed his arm and wrote a letter
explaining how bad it had been
in this world.
Luke
© Francis Bret Harte
Wot's that you're readin'?--a novel? A novel!--well, darn my skin!
You a man grown and bearded and histin' such stuff ez that in--
Stuff about gals and their sweethearts! No wonder you're thin ez a
knife.
Look at me--clar two hundred--and never read one in my life!
Farewell
© Sir Henry Newbolt
Mother, with unbowed head
Hear thou across the sea
The farewell of the dead,
The dead who died for thee.
Greet them again with tender words and grave,
For saving thee, themselves they could not save.
Like Some Wild Sleeper
© Mathilde Blind
Like some wild sleeper who alone at night
Walks with unseeing eyes along a height,
With death below and only stars above;
I, in broad daylight, walk as if in sleep,
Along the edges of life's perilous steep,
The lost somnambulist of love.
Dream Song 76: Henry's Confession
© John Berryman
Nothin very bad happen to me lately.
How you explain that? âI explain that, Mr Bones,
terms o' your bafflin odd sobriety.
Sober as man can get, no girls, no telephones,
what could happen bad to Mr Bones?
âIf life is a handkerchief sandwich,
Lines Suggested By The Graves Of Two English Soldiers On The Concord Battle-Ground
© James Russell Lowell
The same good blood that now refills
The dotard Orient's shrunken veins,
Catharina
© William Cowper
She came--she is gone--we have met--
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
The Veil Of Maya
© Edith Nesbit
SWEET, I have loved before. I know
This longing that invades my days;
This shape that haunts life's busy ways
I know since long and long ago.
Moonrise Over Tyringham
© Edith Wharton
Now the high holocaust of hours is done,
And all the west empurpled with their death,
How swift oblivion drinks the fallen sun,
How little while the dusk remembereth!
Dream Song 87: Op. posth. no. 10
© John Berryman
these hearings endlessly, friends, word is had
Henry may be returning to our life
adult & difficult.
There exist rumors that remote and sad
and quite beyond the knowledge of his wife
to the foothills of the cult
Dream Song 324: An Elegy for W.C.W., the lovely man
© John Berryman
Henry in Ireland to Bill underground:
Rest well, who worked so hard, who made a good sound
constantly, for so many years:
your high-jinks delighted the continents & our ears:
you had so many girls your life was a triumph
and you loved your one wife.
Dream Song 39: Goodbye, sir, & fare well. You're in the clear
© John Berryman
Goodbye, sir, & fare well. You're in the clear.
'Nobody' (Mark says you said) 'is ever found out.'
I figure you were right,
having as Henry got away with murder
for long. Some jarred clock tell me it's late,
not for you who went straight
Roan Stallion
© Robinson Jeffers
She rose at length, she unknotted the halter; she walked and led
the stallion; two figures, woman and stallion,
Came down the silent emptiness of the dome of the hill, under
the cataract of the moonlight.
