the blackbirds in the rain
upon the dead topbranches
of the living tree,
stuck fast to the low clouds,
notate the dawn.
Their shrill cries sound
announcing appetite
and drop among the bending roses
and the dripping grass.
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An old willow with hollow branches
and sang:Love is a young green willowshimmering at the bare wood’s edge.
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses,
I have known the crisp, splintering leaf-tread with thee on before,White, slender through green saplings;I have lain by thee on the brown forest floorBeside thee, my Lady.Lady of rivers strewn with stones,Only thou art my Lady.Where thousand the freshets are crowded like peasants to a fair;Clear-skinned, wild from seclusionThey jostle white-armed down the tent-bordered thoroughfarePraising…
What have I to say to you
Yet—I lie here thinking of you.The stain of loveIs upon the world.Yellow, yellow, yellow,It eats into the leaves,Smears with saffronThe horned branches that leanHeavilyAgainst a smooth purple sky.There is no light—Only a honey-thick stainThat drips from leaf to leafAnd limb to limbSpoiling the coloursOf the whole world.I am alone.The weight of loveHas buoyed me upTill…
1
——————It has always been the fashion to talk about the moon.2This that I have struggled against is the very thing I should have chosen—but all’s right now. They said I could not put the flower back into the stem nor win roses upon dead briars and I like a fool believed them. But all’s right…
I’ve fond anticipation of a day
For I must read a lady poesyThe while we glide by many a leafy bay,Hid deep in rushes, where at random playThe glossy black winged May-flies, or whence fleeHush-throated nestlings in alarm,Whom we have idly frighted with our boat’s long sway.For, lest o’ersaddened by such woes as springTo rural peace from our meek onward trend,What…
Flowers through the window
changed by white curtains –Smell of cleanliness –Sunshine of late afternoon –On the glass traya glass pitcher, the tumblerturned down, by whicha key is lying – And theimmaculate white bed