Life poems
/ page 770 of 844 /
Sonnets 07: When I Too Long Have Looked Upon Your Face
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
When I too long have looked upon your face,
Wherein for me a brightness unobscured
Save by the mists of brightness has its place,
And terrible beauty not to be endured,
Bluebeard
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
Interim
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
The room is full of you!As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!
Ode To Silence
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Aye, but she?
Your other sister and my other soul
Grave Silence, lovelier
Than the three loveliest maidens, what of her?
The Suicide
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Thus I to Life, and ceased, and slightly smiled,
Looking at nothing; and my thin dreams filed
Before me one by one till once again
I set new words unto an old refrain:
Sonnet 06: Bluebeard
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed.... Here is no treasure hid
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
Journey
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over meI am so tired, so tired
Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
Prisoner, The - (A Fragment)
© Emily Jane Brontë
In the dungeon-crypts, idly did I stray,
Reckless of the lives wasting there away;
"Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!"
He dared not say me nay - the hinges harshly turn.
Self-Interrogation
© Emily Jane Brontë
The evening passes fast away,
'Tis almost time to rest;
What thoughts has left the vanished day,
What feelings, in thy breast?
Death
© Emily Jane Brontë
Death! that struck when I was most confiding
In my certain faith of joy to be -
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!
Nyctivoe (extract)
© Dimitris Lyacos
NARRATOR
Accounting that He was able to raise them up
even from the dead
They've Come
© Alfonsina Storni
My sister---the oldest---is grown up,
is blondish. An elemental dream
goes through her eyes: I told the youngest
"Life is sweet. Everything bad comes to an end."
Sweet Torture
© Alfonsina Storni
My melancholy was gold dust in your hands;
On your long hands I scattered my life;
My sweetnesses remained clutched in your hands;
Now I am a vial of perfume, emptied
For/From Lew
© Gary Snyder
Lew Welch just turned up one day,
live as you and me. "Damn, Lew" I said,
"you didn't shoot yourself after all."
"Yes I did" he said,
For Lew Welch In A Snowfall
© Gary Snyder
Snowfall in March:
I sit in the white glow reading a thesis
About you. Your poems, your life.
How We Are
© Lisa Zaran
My father's voice in the back of my head,
saying, forget that I'm dead and if you
can not do that than pretend.
