Liberty will shriek and whirl
Her showery torch to see it blaze.
When liberty is wedded wife
And keeps the barn and counts the byre
Liberty amends her life.
She drowns her torch for fear of fire.
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THE gull’s image and the gull
All day I have thought of herThere is nothing left of that year(There is sere-grassSalt colored)We have annulled it withSaltWe have galled it clean to the clay with that one autumnThe hedge-rows keep the rubbish and the leavesThere is nothing left of that year in our lives but the leaves of itAs though it had…
for Learned and Augustus Hand
Stand with me a little by the wallsOr where the walls once were.The bridge was here, the city further:Now there is neither bridge nor town—A doorway where the roof is downOpens on a foot-worn stairThat climbs by three steps into empty air.(What foot went there?)Nothing in this town that had a thousand steeplesLives now but…
And I have come upon this place
By faces, by an old man’s faceAt Morlaix lifted to the birds,By hands upon the tableclothAt Aldebori’s, by the thinChild’s hands that opened to the mothAnd let the flutter of the moonlight in,By hands, by voices, by the voiceOf Mrs. Whitman on the stair,By Margaret’s ‘If we had the choiceTo choose or not – ‘through…
I speak this poem now with grave and level voice
I praise the flower-barren fields, the clouds, the tallUnanswering branches where the wind makes sullen noise.I praise the fall: it is the human season.NowNo more the foreign sun does meddle at our earth,Enforce the green and bring the fallow land to birth,Nor winter yet weigh all with silence the pine bough,But now in autumn with…
We too, we too, descending once again
Far off — Ah, que ce cor a longue haleine —The horn of Roland in the passages of Spain,The first, the second blast, the failing third,And with the third turned back and climbed once moreThe steep road southward, and heard faint the soundOf swords, of horses, the disastrous war,And crossed the dark defile at last,…
The earth, still heavy and warm with afternoon,
The earth, tormented with the moon’s light,Wandering in the night:La, La, The moon is a lovely thing to see—The moon is an agony.Full moon, moon rise, the old old painOf brightness in dilated eyes,The ache of stillElbows leaning on the narrow sill,Of motionless cold hands upon the wetMarble of the parapet,Of open eyelids of a…