Stephen Spender Poems
|1.||The Truly Great||2/19/2015|
|2.||The Labourer In The Vineyard||4/22/2010|
|3.||The Room Above The Square||4/22/2010|
|5.||The Landscape Near An Aerodrome||4/22/2010|
|6.||The Shapes Of Death||4/22/2010|
|7.||He Will Watch The Hawk||4/22/2010|
|8.||On The Pilots Who Destroyed Germany In The Spring Of 1945||4/22/2010|
|10.||Ultima Ratio Regum||4/22/2010|
|12.||An Elementary School Classroom In A Slum||4/22/2010|
|13.||On The Third Day||4/22/2010|
|14.||O Night O Trembling Night||4/22/2010|
|16.||A Stopwatch And An Ordnance Map||4/22/2010|
|18.||I Think Continually||4/22/2010|
I Think Continually
I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.
What is precious is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny ...
At Dawn she lay with her profile at that angle
Which, when she sleeps, seems the carved face of an angel.
Her hair a harp, the hand of a breeze follows
And plays, against the white cloud of the pillows.
Then, in a flush of rose, she woke, and her eyes that opened
Swam in blue through her rose flesh that dawned.
From her dew of lips, the drop of one word
Fell like the first of fountains: murmured
'Darling', upon my ears the song of the first bird.