The houses are haunted

Than your moist hand.Be the voice of the night and Florida in my ear.Use dasky words and dusky images.Darken your speech.Speak, even, as if I did not hear you speaking,But spoke for you perfectly in my thoughts,Conceiving words,As the night conceives the sea-sound in silence,And out of the droning sibilants makesA serenade.Say, puerile, that the…

None are green,Or purple with green rings,Or green with yellow rings,Or yellow with blue rings.None of them are strange,With socks of laceAnd beaded ceintures.People are not goingTo dream of baboons and periwinkles.Only, here and there, an old sailor,Drunk and asleep in his boots,Catches TigersIn red weather.

It made the slovenly wildernessSurround that hill.The wilderness rose up to it,And sprawled around, no longer wild.The jar was round upon the groundAnd tall and of a port in air.It took dominion everywhere.The jar was gray and bare.It did not give of bird or bush,Like nothing else in Tennessee.

Most near, most clear, and of the clearest bloom,And of the fragrant mothers the most dearAnd queen, and of diviner love the dayAnd flame and summer and sweet fire, no threadOf cloudy silver sprinkles in your gownIts venom of renown, and on your headNo crown is simpler than the simple hair.Now, of the music summoned…

Whose garden is wind and moon,Of the two dreams, night and day,What lover, what dreamer, would chooseThe one obscured by sleep?Here is the plantain by your doorAnd the best cock of red featherThat crew before the clocks.A feme may come, leaf-green,Whose coming may give revelBeyond revelries of sleep,Yes, and the blackbird spread its tail,So that…

It crawls over the edges of the snow.It crawls under your eyelidsAnd spreads its webs there–Its two webs.The webs of your eyesAre fastenedTo the flesh and bones of youAs to rafters or grass.There are filaments of your eyesOn the surface of the waterAnd in the edges of the snow.

Of happens to like, not should.And that, too, granted, whyDo I happen to like red bush,Grey grass and green-gray sky?What else remains? But red,Gray, green, why those of all?That is not what I said:Not those of all. But those.One likes what one happens to like.One likes the way red grows.It cannot matter at all.Happens to…

Damned universal cock, as if the sunWas blackmoor to bear your blazing tail.Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.Your world is you. I am my world.You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.

In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.Let the wenches dawdle in such dressAs they are used to wear, and let the boysBring flowers in last month’s newspapers.Let be be finale of seem.The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.Take from the dresser of deal.Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheetOn which she embroidered fantails onceAnd spread it…

To be crested and wear the mane of a multitudeAnd so, as part, to exult with its great throat,To speak of joy and to sing of it, borne onThe shoulders of joyous men, to feel the heartThat is the common, the bravest fundament,This is a facile exercise. JeromeBegat the tubas and the fire-wind strings,The golden…

Make music, so the self-same soundsOn my spirit make a music, too.Music is feeling, then, not sound;And thus it is that what I feel,Here in this room, desiring you,Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,Is music. It is like the strainWaked in the elders by Susanna;Of a green evening, clear and warm,She bathed in her still garden,…

It made the slovenly wildernessSurround that hill.The wilderness rose up to it,And sprawled around, no longer wild.The jar was round upon the groundAnd tall and of a port in air.It took dominion everywhere.The jar was gray and bare.It did not give of bird or bush,Like nothing else in Tennessee.