Tag Archives: town

A precious — mouldering pleasure — ’tis –

A precious -- mouldering pleasure -- 'tis --A precious — mouldering pleasure — ’tis —
To meet an Antique Book —
In just the Dress his Century wore —
A privilege — I think —

His venerable Hand to take —
And warming in our own —
A passage back — or two — to make —
To Times when he — was young —

His quaint opinions — to inspect —
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind —
The Literature of Man —

What interested Scholars — most —
What Competitions ran —
When Plato — was a Certainty —
And Sophocles — a Man —

When Sappho — was a living Girl —
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante — deified —
Facts Centuries before

He traverses — familiar —
As One should come to Town —
And tell you all your Dreams — were true —
He lived — where Dreams were born —

His presence is Enchantment —
You beg him not to go —
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize — just so –

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Perhaps I asked too large –

Perhaps I asked too large --Perhaps I asked too large —
I take — no less than skies —
For Earths, grow thick as
Berries, in my native town —

My Basket holds — just — Firmaments —
Those — dangle easy — on my arm,
But smaller bundles — Cram.

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‘Twas the old — road — through pain –

'Twas the old -- road -- through pain --‘Twas the old — road — through pain —
That unfrequented — one —
With many a turn — and thorn —
That stops — at Heaven —

This — was the Town — she passed —
There — where she — rested — last —
Then — stepped more fast —
The little tracks — close prest —
Then — not so swift —
Slow — slow — as feet did weary — grow —
Then — stopped — no other track!

Wait! Look! Her little Book —
The leaf — at love — turned back —
Her very Hat —
And this worn shoe just fits the track —
Herself — though — fled!

Another bed — a short one —
Women make — tonight —
In Chambers bright —
Too out of sight — though —
For our hoarse Good Night —
To touch her Head!

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It can’t be “Summer”! That — got through!

It can't be It can’t be “Summer”!
That — got through!
It’s early — yet — for “Spring”!
There’s that long town of White — to cross —
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can’t be “Dying”!
It’s too Rouge —
The Dead shall go in White —
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!

It can’t be “Summer”!

Is it true, dear Sue?It can’t be “Summer”!
That — got through!
It’s early — yet — for “Spring”!
There’s that long town of White — to cross —
Before the Blackbirds sing!
It can’t be “Dying”!
It’s too Rouge —
The Dead shall go in White —
So Sunset shuts my question down
With Cuffs of Chrysolite!

Musicians wrestle everywhere –

Musicians wrestle everywhere --Musicians wrestle everywhere —
All day — among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife —
And — waking — long before the morn —
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that “New Life”!

If is not Bird — it has no nest —
Nor “Band” — in brass and scarlet — drest —
Nor Tamborin — 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!

Dust is the only Secret –

Dust is the only Secret --Dust is the only Secret —
Death, the only One
You cannot find out all about
In his “native town.”

Nobody know “his Father” —
Never was a Boy —
Hadn’t any playmates,
Or “Early history” —

Industrious! Laconic!
Punctual! Sedate!
Bold as a Brigand!
Stiller than a Fleet!

Builds, like a Bird, too!
Christ robs the Nest —
Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!