such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,,,
such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,
such and so many blinding bright lights,, ,
splashing all over the pages
in a million bits and pieces
all of which were words, words, words,
and each of which were alive forever
in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.
Similar Posts
Out of the sighs a little comes,
Before the agony; the spirit grows,Forgets, and cries;A little comes, is tasted and found good;All could not disappoint;There must, be praised, some certainty,If not of loving well, then not,And that is true after perpetual defeat.After such fighting as the weakest know,There’s more than dying;Lose the great pains or stuff the wound,He’ll ache too longThrough no…
The bows glided down, and the coast
At his thrashing hair and whale-blue eye;The trodden town rang its cobbles for luck.Then good-bye to the fishermannedBoat with its anchor free and fastAs a bird hooking over the sea,High and dry by the top of the mast,Whispered the affectionate sandAnd the bulwarks of the dazzled quay.For my sake sail, and never look back,Said the…
Do you not father me, nor the erected arm
Do you not mother me, nor, as I am,The lovers’ house, lie suffering my stain?Do you not sister me, nor the erected crimeFor my tall turrets carry as your sin?Do you not brother me, nor, as you climb,Adore my windows for their summer scene?Am I not father, too, and the ascending boy,The boy of woman…
Altarwise by owl-light in the half-way house
Abaddon in the hangnail cracked from Adam,And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies,The atlas-eater with a jaw for news,Bit out the mandrake with to-morrows scream.Then, penny-eyed, that gentlemen of wounds,Old cock from nowheres and the heaven’s egg,With bones unbuttoned to the half-way winds,Hatched from the windy salvage on one leg,Scraped at my cradle…
It is a winter’s tale
And floating fields from the farm in the cup of the vales,Gliding windless through the hand folded flakes,The pale breath of cattle at the stealthy sail,And the stars falling cold,And the smell of hay in the snow, and the far owlWarning among the folds, and the frozen holdFlocked with the sheep white smoke of the…
I
Lay the gold tithings barren,Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils;Theire in their heat the winter floodsOf frozen loves they fetch their girls,And drown the cargoed apples in their tides.These boys of light are curdlers in their folly,Sour the boiling honey;The jacks of frost they finger in the hives;There in the sun the frigid…