All poems

The Grave and Cradle, the untiring twain, Who in the markets of this narrow lane

"Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn,

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work—

But then there comes that moment rare When, for no cause that I can find,

The heart of a woman goes forth with the dawn, As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on,

Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air,

It weeps in my heart As it rains on the town.

Women have no wilderness in them, They are provident instead,

Envy, why carp'st thou my time's spent so ill? And term'st my works fruits of an idle quill?

Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root,

'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain. 'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving one.

Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie.

O last cloud of the scattered storm, Alone thou sailest along the azure clear;

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue,

The grey sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low;

I The winter evening settles down

What then? what are his million bales? Mere dewdrops on the bamboo grass.

There stands a lonely pine-tree In the north, on a barren height;

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat,

I sat before my glass one day, And conjured up a vision bare,

I have studied many times The marble which was chiseled for me—

Yes. I remember Adlestrop— The name, because one afternoon

Remember then: there is only one time that is important—Now! It is the most important time because it is the only time when we have any power.

The rain advances like a king In awful majesty;

Well, son, I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain,

The light of autumn evenings seems a screen, Some mystery with tender glamor muffling. . . .

Men die... Dreams only change their houses.

When God at first made man, Having a glasse of blessings standing by;

I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell:

My God, break not the breakers of the sea, Nor say Thou to the deep, 'Be dry',

Remember that you are an actor in a drama, of such a kind as the author pleases to make it.

In Nature's temple living pillars rise, And words are murmured none have understood,

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone;

I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough,

Avoid the reeking herd, Shun the polluted flock,

Love we (my Lesbia!) and live we our day, While all stern sayings crabbed sages say,

Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate, Didst weep when Spain cast forth with flaming sword,

Through the heavens of midnight an angel was sped Who lifted his chant as he fled.

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness:

Are you alive? I touch you.

Skimming lightly, wheeling still, The swallows fly low

By the time you swear you’re his, Shivering and sighing,

How distant on the fallen leaves His footstep sounds for whom I wait!

Once riding in old Baltimore, Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,

The golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown;

God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform;

Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie

Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver