That hurtle flesh and bone past fear
Down alleyways of dreams
This is a wine that must flow on
Not caring how or where
So it has ways to flow upon
Where song is in the air.
So it can woo an artful flute
With loose elastic lips
Its measurements of joy compute
With blithe, ecstatic hips.
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She even thinks that up in heaven
While poor black cherubs rise at sevenTo do celestial chores.
I cannot hold my peace, John Keats;
It is an echo, that repeatsMy last year’s song and next year’s bliss.I know, in spite of all men sayOf Beauty, you have felt her most.Yea, even in your grave her wayIs laid. Poor, troubled, lyric ghost,Spring never was so fair and dearAs Beauty makes her seem this year.I cannot hold my peace, John Keats,I…
Dead men are wisest, for they know
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Some are teethed on a silver spoon,
I cut my teeth as the black racoon–For implements of battle.Some are swaddled in silk and down,And heralded by a star;They swathed my limbs in a sackcloth gownOn a night that was black as tar.For some, godfather and goddameThe opulent fairies be;Dame Poverty gave me my name,And Pain godfathered me.For I was born on Saturday–‘Bad…
Never love with all your heart,
And bit by bit to the smallest partThat organ will be breaking.Never love with all your mind,It only ends in fretting;In musing on sweet joys behind,too poignant for forgetting.Never love with all your soul,for such there is no ending;though a mind that frets may find control,and a shattered heart find mending.Give but a grain of…
Wherein are words sublime or noble? What
Makes it the sesame for all doors shut,Yet in its like sees but impertinence?Is it the hue? Is it the cast of eye,The curve of lip or Asiatic breath,Which mark a lesser place for Gandhi’s cryThan “Give me liberty or give me death!”Is Indian speech so quaint, so weak, so rude,So like its land enslaved,…