Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.
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His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.A blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!And who’s that talking, somewhere out of sight?Why are they laughing? What’s inside that jug?‘Nurse! Doctor!’ ‘Yes; all right, all right.’But sudden dusk bewilders all the air —There seems no…
My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,
And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,And fitted with great pocks and scabs of plaques.Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire,There moved thin caterpillars, slowly uncoiled.It seemed they pushed themselves to be as plugsOf ditches, where they writhed and shrivelled, killed.By them had slimy…
Some little while ago, I had a mood
So sympathetic, ample, sweet, and goodThat I preferred it to Society.Not for a season, be it understood,But altogether and perpetually.As far as feeling went, I thought I couldBe quit of men, live independently.For men and minds, heart-humours and heart’s-teaseDisturbed without exciting: whereas woods,The seasonal changes, and the chanting seasWere both soul-rousing and sense-lulling. Moods,Such moods…
Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm,
Sway steep against them, and for years rehearseHuge imprecations like a blasting charm!Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm,And beat it down before its sins grow worse.Spend our resentment, cannon, — yea, disburseOur gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm.Yet, for men’s sakes whom thy vast malisonMust wither innocent of enmity,Be not…
I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears;
And buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts;And rusted every bayonet with His tears.And there were no more bombs, of ours or Theirs,Not even an old flint-lock, not even a pikel.But God was vexed, and gave all power to Michael;And when I woke he’d seen to our repairs.
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Drooping tongues from jays that slob their relish,Baring teeth that leer like skulls’ teeth wicked?Stroke on stroke of pain,- but what slow panic,Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?Ever from their hair and through their hands’ palmsMisery swelters. Surely we have perishedSleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?-These are men whose minds the Dead…
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.
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She sleeps on soft, last breaths; but no ghost looms
Her wall of boys on boys and dooms on dooms.She dreams of golden gardens and sweet glooms,Not marvelling why her roses never fallNor what red mouths were torn to make their blooms.The shades keep down which well might roam her hall.Quiet their blood lies in her crimson roomsAnd she is not afraid of their footfall.They…
Roundel
In Shrewsbury Town e’en Hercules wox tired,Tired of the streets that end not up nor down;Tired of the Quarry, though seats may be hiredOf Shrewsbury Town.Tired of the tongues that knew not his renown;Tired of the Quarry Bye-Laws, so admiredBy the Salopian, the somnambulant clown.Weak as a babe, and in like wise attired,He leaned upon…
Sing me at morn but only with your laugh;
Even as Love that laugheth after Life.Sing me but only with your speech all day,As voluble leaflets do; let viols die;The least word of your lips is melody!Sing me at eve but only your sigh!Like lifting seas it solaceth; breathe so,Slowly and low, the sense that no songs say.Sing me at midnight with your murmurous…
Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
And lined the train with faces grimly gay.Their breasts were stuck all white with wreath and sprayAs men’s are, dead.Dull porters watched them, and a casual trampStood staring hard,Sorry to miss them from the upland camp.Then, unmoved, signals nodded, and a lampWinked to the guard.So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.They were not ours:We never…
Red lips are not so red
Kindness of wooed and wooerSeems shame to their love pure.O Love, your eyes lose lureWhen I behold eyes blinded in my stead!Your slender attitudeTrembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,Rolling and rolling thereWhere God seems not to care;Till the fierce Love they bearCramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude.Your voice sings not so soft, —Though even as…
It is not death
To one in dearthOf life and its laughter,Nor the sweet murderDealt slow and evenUnto the martyrSmiling at heaven:It is the smileFaint as a (waning) myth,Faint, and exceeding smallOn a boy’s murdered mouth.