stars
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The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.
Tags: men, moon, must, night, star, stars, summer
I stepped from plank to plank
So slow and cautiously;
The stars about my head I felt,
About my feet the sea.
I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch, –
This gave me that precarious gait
Some call experience.
Tags: feet, sea, slow, star, stars
If the foolish call them ‘flowers,’
Need the wiser tell?
If the savans ‘classify’ them,
It is just as well!
Those who read the Revelations
Must not criticise
Those who read the same edition
With beclouded eyes!
Could we stand with that old Moses
Canaan denied, –
Scan, like him, the stately landscape
On the other side, –
Doubtless we should deem superfluous
Many sciences
Not pursued by learnèd angels
In scholastic skies!
Low amid that glad _Belles lettres_
Grant that we may stand,
Stars, amid profound Galaxies,
At that grand ‘Right hand’!
Podcast music by Antonio Meneses
Tags: angels, cloud, eyes, flower, land, may, men, music, must, skies, star, stars
They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers goes.
They perished in the seamless grass, –
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.
Tags: drop, god, june, rose, sea, star, stars
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!
You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you ‘ve littered all the East
With duds of emerald!
And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars –
And then I come away.
Tags: away, drop, fly, house, star, stars
Musicians wrestle everywhere:
All day, among the crowded air,
I hear the silver strife;
And — waking long before the dawn –
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that “new life!”
It is not bird, it has no nest;
Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,
Nor tambourine, nor man;
It is not hymn from pulpit read, –
The morning stars the treble led
On time’s first afternoon!
Some say it is the spheres at play!
Some say that bright majority
Of vanished dames and men!
Some think it service in the place
Where we, with late, celestial face,
Please God, shall ascertain!
Tags: bird, die, first, god, ice, Life, men, morning, music, noon, star, stars, think
I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You’ll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.
A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh, find it, sir, for me!
Tags: ice, star, stars
We’ve already mentioned here the MASS MoCA show of Spencer Finch’s strangely experiential installations, but since DailyDickinson.com World Headquarters is located just south of Lake Street in Minneapolis (we hope this show graces the Walker someday…), we haven’t actually visited it. But Maria Williams-Russell at Minds Island has a nice review of the show, and it only makes us want to see (and feel and hear) it that much more:
Finch puts the observer at the center of the experience in which each piece explores the idea of human perception by attempting to recreate, through scientific methods, how people remember, experience, and represent the visual and sensory phenomenon that occur in everyday experience. . . . What makes this poetic is that Finch has chosen subjects that are elusive in nature: weather, dreams, stars, memory, sight, thought processes, and other equally mysterious phenomenon, which elicit an instantaneous emotional response.
If you go, Maria notes, be sure to grab the show’s booklet: “Without it, you will wander aimlessly not knowing why the art is the way it is.”
And, if a brief Google-stalking isn’t misleading me, it turns out Maria has a way with words poetical herself; see dissemination and sticks and feathers at the Pitkin Review, and (untitled) at Quay.
Tags: book, god, hope, ice, land, men, Nature, poem, see, spring, star, stars, thought, tree
