Morning poems
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When Once The Twilight Locks No Longer
© Dylan Thomas
When once the twilight locks no longer
Locked in the long worm of my finger
Nor damned the sea that sped about my fist,
The mouth of time sucked, like a sponge,
The milky acid on each hinge,
And swallowed dry the waters of the breast.
I, In My Intricate Image
© Dylan Thomas
I, in my intricate image, stride on two levels,
Forged in man's minerals, the brassy orator
Laying my ghost in metal,
The scales of this twin world tread on the double,
My half ghost in armour hold hard in death's corridor,
To my man-iron sidle.
Incarnate Devil
© Dylan Thomas
Incarnate devil in a talking snake,
The central plains of Asia in his garden,
In shaping-time the circle stung awake,
In shapes of sin forked out the bearded apple,
And God walked there who was a fiddling warden
And played down pardon from the heavens' hill.
Dylan Thomas - Holy Spring
© Dylan Thomas
O
Out of a bed of love
When that immortal hospital made one more moove to soothe
The curless counted body,
Especially When The October Wind
© Dylan Thomas
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
Poem On His Birthday
© Dylan Thomas
In the mustardseed sun,
By full tilt river and switchback sea
Where the cormorants scud,
In his house on stilts high among beaks
Poem In October
© Dylan Thomas
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
A Child's Christmas In Wales
© Dylan Thomas
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound
except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember
whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve
nights when I was six.
Fern Hill
© Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
V
© Tony Harrison
Next millennium you'll have to search quite hard
to find my slab behind the family dead,
butcher, publican, and baker, now me, bard
adding poetry to their beef, beer and bread.
While we were fearing it, it came --
© Emily Dickinson
While we were fearing it, it came --
But came with less of fear
Because that fearing it so long
Had almost made it fair --
When Memory is full
© Emily Dickinson
When Memory is full
Put on the perfect Lid --
This Morning's finest syllable
Presumptuous Evening said --
What care the Dead, for Chanticleer --
© Emily Dickinson
What care the Dead, for Chanticleer --
What care the Dead for Day?
'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face --
And Purple Ribaldry -- of Morning
We see -- Comparatively --
© Emily Dickinson
We see -- Comparatively --
The Thing so towering high
We could not grasp its segment
Unaided -- Yesterday --
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
© Emily Dickinson
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar --
Until the morning sun --
When One -- turned smiling to the land --
Oh God! the Other One!
Too few the mornings be,
© Emily Dickinson
Too few the mornings be,
Too scant the nights.
No lodging can be had
For the delights
To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,
© Emily Dickinson
To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,
What must the Midnights -- be!
The Symptom of the Gale --
© Emily Dickinson
The Symptom of the Gale --
The Second of Dismay --
Between its Rumor and its Face --
Is almost Revelry --
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
© Emily Dickinson
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
Where Sunset hence must be
For treason not of His, but Life's,
Gone Westerly, Today --
The Sun -- just touched the Morning
© Emily Dickinson
The Sun -- just touched the Morning --
The Morning -- Happy thing --
Supposed that He had come to dwell --
And Life would all be Spring!
