Time poems
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Full Fathom
© Jorie Graham
& sea swell, hiss of incomprehensible flat: distance: blue long-fingered ocean and its
nothing else: nothing in the above visible except
Abu Midjan
© Archibald Lampman
Underneath a tree at noontide
Abu Midjan sits distressed,
Fetters on his wrists and ancles,
And his chin upon his breast;
A Time Past
© Denise Levertov
The old wooden steps to the front door
where I was sitting that fall morning
Modern Love: VIII
© George Meredith
Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt
Of righteous feeling made her pitiful.
Sonnet XVIII
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
Indefinite space, which, by co-substance night,
In one black mystery two void mysteries blends;
Paradise Regain'd: Book I (1671)
© Patrick Kavanagh
I Who e're while the happy Garden sung,
By one mans disobedience lost, now sing
The Old Dream
© Augusta Davies Webster
NAY, tell me not. I will not know.
Because of her my life is bare,
On The Downs
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
A faint sea without wind or sun;
A sky like flameless vapour dun;
A valley like an unsealed grave
That no man cares to weep upon,
Bare, without boon to crave,
Or flower to save.
The Character Of The Bore
© John Donne
Well; I may now receive and die. My sin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
Love Is Enough: Songs I-IX
© William Morris
Love is enough: though the World be a-waning
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Beatrice
© Sara Teasdale
Send out the singers - let the room be still;
They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep.
A Death in the Desert
© Robert Browning
Then Xanthus said a prayer, but still he slept:
It is the Xanthus that escaped to Rome,
Was burned, and could not write the chronicle.
Spelt from Sibyl’s Leaves
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, ' vaulty, voluminous, . . . stupendous
Evening strains to be time’s vást, ' womb-of-all, home-of-all, hearse-of-all night.
Experience
© Edith Wharton
But otherwise Fate wills it, for, behold,
Our gathered strength of individual pain,
When Time’s long alchemy hath made it gold,
Dies with us—hoarded all these years in vain,
Since those that might be heir to it the mould
Renew, and coin themselves new griefs again.
The Waste Land
© Thomas Stearns Eliot
“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
Prophecy
© Jules Supervielle
One day the Earth will be
just a blind space turning,
night confused with day.
Under the vast Andean sky
there’ll be no more mountains,
not a rock or ravine.
If It Were Not for You
© Hayden Carruth
The night winds reach
like the blind breath of the world
in a rhythm without mind, gusting and beating
as if to destroy us, battering our poverty
and all the land’s flat and cold and dark
under iron snow
Pyrography
© John Ashbery
Out here on Cottage Grove it matters. The galloping
Wind balks at its shadow. The carriages
