Day long, long day cooped on a stoolA-jumbling o’ figures for Maitre Jacques Polin,I ha’ taken to rambling the South here.The Vicomte of Beziers’s not such a bad lot.I made rimes to his lady this three year:Vers and canzone, till that damn’d son of Aragon,Alfonso the half-bald, took to hangingHis helmet at Beziers.Then came what…
She rushed out into the sunlight and swarmed up acocoanut palm tree,But he returned to this islandAnd wrote ninety Petrarchan sonnets.
What if I know thy speeches word by word,And all the time thou sayest them o’er I said,‘Lo, one there was who bent her fair bright head,Sighing as thou dost through the golden speech.’Or, as our laughters mingle each with each,As crushed lips take their respite fitfully,What if my thoughts were turned in their mid…
To bring her soul to birth,To give these elements a name and a centre!She is beautiful as the sunlight, and as fluid.She has no name, and no place.How have I laboured to bring her soul into separation;To give her a name and her being!Surely you are bound and entwined,You are mingled with the elements unborn;I…
We, you, I! We are ‘Red Bloods’!Imagine it, my fellow sufferersOur maleness lifts us out of the ruck,Who’d have foreseen it?O my fellow sufferers, we went out under the trees,We were in especial bored with male stupidity.We went forth gathering delicate thoughts,Our ‘fantastikon’ delighted to serve us.We were not exasperated with women,for the female is…
Full of faint lightbut golden,Gray cliffs,and beneath themA seaHarsher than granite,unstill, never ceasing;High formswith the movement of gods,Perilous aspect;And one said:‘This is Actaeon.’Actaeon of golden greaves!Over fair meadows,Over the cool face of that field,Unstill, ever movingHosts of an ancient people,The silent cortège.
And here desire, not to be kissed away.The eyes of this dead lady speak to me.
Have started a investigationOf the making of guns.The morning paper tells meThey have asked the senate to guessWhether Mr. Dupont and the gun-sharksHave influence with the press.I sit alone in the twilightAfter my work is doneAnd wonder if my day’s three and eight-penceWould count on the price of a gun.Was I started wrong as a…
The government’s excuse,Never at all will they doAught of the slightest use.Over the dying half-wits blow,Over the empty-headed, and the slowMarchers, not getting forwarder,While Ramsay MacDonald sleeps, sleeps.Fester and rot, fester and rot,And angle and tergiversateOne thing among all things you will notDo, that is: think, before it’s too late.Election will not come very soon,And…
He was bored with his manner of life,Indifferent and discouraged he thought he might asWell do this as anything else.Saying within his heart,’I am no use to myself,‘Let her, if she wants me, take me.’He went to his doom.
