She has no more use
For her fragrant gowns;
Take them all down,
Blue, green, blue,
Lilac, pink, blue,
From their padded hangers;
She will dance no more
In her narrow shoes;
Sweep her narrow shoes
From the closet floor.
Similar Posts
Cherish you then the hope I shall forget
For your so passing sake, this mouth of clayThese mortal bones against my body set,For all the puny fever and frail sweatOf human love,—renounce for these, I say,The Singing Mountain’s memory, and betrayThe silent lyre that hangs upon me yet?Ah, but indeed, some day shall you awake,Rather, from dreams of me, that at your sideSo…
Brother, that breathe the August air
And smell—if still your orchards bearTart apples on the bough—The early windfall under the tree,And see the red fruit shine,I cannot think your thoughts will beMuch different from mine.Should at that moment the full moonStep forth upon the hill,And memories hard to bear at noon,By moonlight harder still,Form in the shadow of the trees, —Things…
And you as well must die, beloved dust,
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,This body of flame and steel, before the gustOf Death, or under his autumnal frost,Shall be as any leaf, be no less deadThan the first leaf that fell,–this wonder fled.Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.In spite of all my love, you will ariseUpon…
I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
If he be lucky; let him twist, and apeFlood, fire, and demon — his adroit designsWill strain to nothing in the strict confinesOf this sweet Order, where, in pious rape,I hold his essence and amorphous shape,Till he with Order mingles and combines.Past are the hours, the years, of our duress,His arrogance, our awful servitude:I have…
Inert Perfection
‘Inert Perfection, let me chip your shell.You cannot break it through with that soft beak.What if you broke it never, and it befellYou should not issue thence, should never speak?’Perfection in the egg, a fluid thing,Grows solid in due course, and there exists;Knowing no urge to struggle forth and sing;Complete, though shell-bound. But the mind…
Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,
And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slowRising of the round moon, all throats that singThe summer through, and each departing wing,And all the nests that the bared branches show,And all winds that in any weather blow,And all the storms that the four seasons bring.You go no more on your exultant feetUp paths that only…