Nature poems
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magic to change the world
© Joseph Mayo Wristen
there is enough magic here
inside this one word
to change our world forever
An Epithet for the Dead Poet
© Joseph Mayo Wristen
I dance to his testimonial
in the heat of the night.
I dance to his living death.
The Book of Urizen: Chapter II
© William Blake
1. Earth was not: nor globes of attraction
The will of the Immortal expanded
Or contracted his all flexible senses.
Death was not, but eternal life sprung
The Book of Urizen: Chapter VII
© William Blake
3. These falling down on the rock
Into an iron Chain
In each other link by link lock'd
The Song of Los
© William Blake
I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet:
He sung it to four harps at the tables of Eternity.
In heart-formed Africa.
Urizen faded! Ariston shudderd!
And thus the Song began
You Don't Believe
© William Blake
You don't believe -- I won't attempt to make ye:
You are asleep -- I won't attempt to wake ye.
Sleep on! sleep on! while in your pleasant dreams
Of Reason you may drink of Life's clear streams.
Reason and Newton, they are quite two things;
For so the swallow and the sparrow sings.
Proverbs of Hell (Excerpt from The Marriage of Heaven and H
© William Blake
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
© William Blake
Rintrah roars & shakes his fires in the burdend air;
Hungry clouds swag on the deep
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (excerpt)
© William Blake
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
The Human Abstract
© William Blake
Pity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be.
If all were as happy as we;
By Circumstances Fed
© Delmore Schwartz
By circumstances fed
Which divide attention
Among the living and the dead,
Under the blooms of the blossoming sun,
Spiders
© Delmore Schwartz
Is the spider a monster in miniature?
His web is a cruel stair, to be sure,
Designed artfully, cunningly placed,
A delicate trap, carefully spun
To bind the fly (innocent or unaware)
In a net as strong as a chain or a gun.
Love And Marilyn Monroe
© Delmore Schwartz
Let us praise, to say it again, her spiritual pride
And admire one who delights in what she has and is
(Who says also: "A woman is like a motor car:
She needs a good body."
And: "I sun bathe in the nude, because I want
to be blonde all over.")
Sonnet On Famous And Familiar Sonnets And Experiences
© Delmore Schwartz
When I but think of how her years are spent
Deadening that one talent which -- for woman is --
Death or paralysis, denied: nature's intent
That each girl be a mother -- whether or not she is
Or has become a lawful wife or bride
-- 0 Alma Magna Mater, deathless the living death of pride.
Phoenix Lyrics
© Delmore Schwartz
Purple black cloud at sunset: it is late August
and the light begins to look cold, and as we look,
listen and look, we hear the first drums of autumn.
A Young Child And His Pregnant Mother
© Delmore Schwartz
Measured by his distance from the sky,
Spoken in two vowels,
I am I.
Advice To An Old Man of Sixty Three About To Marry a Girle of Sixteen
© Thomas Flatman
Now fie upon him! what is Man,
Whose life at best is but a span?
When to an inch it dwindles down,
Ice in his bones, snow on his Crown,
Stanzas
© Edgar Allan Poe
How often we forget all time, when lone
Admiring Nature's universal throne;
Her woods- her wilds- her mountains- the intense
Reply of HERS to OUR intelligence! [BYRON, The Island.]
Ocean: An Ode. Concluding With A Wish.
© Edward Young
Sweet rural scene Of flocks and green!
At careless ease my limbs are spread;
All nature still, But yonder rill;
And listening pines nod o'er my head:
Tamerlane
© Edgar Allan Poe
On mountain soil I first drew life:
The mists of the Taglay have shed
Nightly their dews upon my head,
And, I believe, the winged strife
And tumult of the headlong air
Have nestled in my very hair.
