Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Dreamland
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
Hyperion
BOOK I
DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung above his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad
The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir-
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Evangeline: A Tale Of Acadie
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Endymion: Book I
ENDYMION.
A Poetic Romance.
"THE STRETCHED METRE OF AN AN ANTIQUE SONG."
INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS CHATTERTON.
Book I
Enrich My Heart
Play me a great symphony to enrich my heart,
Perform a concerto, to entrance me, please,
This music, so uplifting, always make it a big part
Of your life. Embrace the melody with ease.
Listen with depth to the harmony, which it brings,
Such rhythm will always weave around your day.
The volume of sound, in your mind, forever sings,
And the orchestration bears your cares away.
Courtship Of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Heart's Needle
1
Child of my winter, born
When the new fallen soldiers froze
In Asia's steep ravines and fouled the snows,
When I was torn
By love I could not still,
By fear that silenced my cramped mind
To that cold war where, lost, I could not find
My peace in my will,
' In The Presence Of An Avadhut* '
No, he didn't utter a word
Raised his hand in salutation
To return mine!
No, I didn't have any inclination
Either to utter a word
Sleep And Poetry
As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete
Was unto me, but why that I ne might
Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight
[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese
Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese. ~ Chaucer
What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
Drifting- - -(Interlocking Chain Verse)
.
I'm drifting
drifting with the clouds so gently
gently uplifting and oversteering so purposely
purposely losing traction and sliding
sliding softly sideways
sideways around
around the corners of my life
I'm drifting.
.
Seaweed
When descends on the Atlantic
The gigantic
Storm-wind of the equinox,
Landword in his wrath he scourges
The toiling surges,
Laden with seaweed from the rocks:
From Bermuda's reefs; from edges
Of sunken ledges,
In some far-off, bright Azore;
Metamorphoses: Book The Sixth
PALLAS, attending to the Muse's song,
Approv'd the just resentment of their wrong;
And thus reflects: While tamely I commend
Those who their injur'd deities defend,
My own divinity affronted stands,
And calls aloud for justice at my hands;
Then takes the hint, asham'd to lag behind,
And on Arachne' bends her vengeful mind;
One at the loom so excellently skill'd,
At Last
When on my day of life the night is falling,
And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown,
I hear far voices out of darkness calling
My feet to paths unknown,
Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant,
Leave not its tenant when its walls decay;
O Love Divine, O Helper ever present,
Be Thou my strength and stay!
Nocturne
Night of Mid-June, in heavy vapours dying,
Like priestly hands thy holy touch is lying
Upon the world's wide brow;
God-like and grand all nature is commanding
The "peace that passes human understanding";
I, also, feel it now.
What matters it to-night, if one life treasure
I covet, is not mine! Am I to measure
The gifts of Heaven's decree
A Warm Smile
Love has placed a smile on my face,
Lighting upon it the bright grace
Of heaven, my heart did embrace.
In me, tenderness comes in place
From the heart's core, where soft fire lays.
My heart, where my notes of love says
That the joy illumed in my fire's base
Will ever touch me to seek ways
Of tending this wondrous love's rays,
So uplifting, so I'll feel its trace
The Search
Searching for the lost moments that are uplifting my emotions,
Like a shooting star, flashing so brightly,
Across the darkened skies,
Searching for the truth in the magnitude of lies,
My heart is dancing on it's own, in a very lonely place,
Searching for your strong and smiling face,
Among the multitude of people, striding along the city streets,
At such a fast pace.
Searching for the trees, stretching and reaching out
To my surviving soul, struggling with life's demands,
Hyperion. Book Ii
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings
Hyperion slid into the rustled air,
And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place
Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd.
It was a den where no insulting light
Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans
They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar
Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse,
Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where.
Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd
Through Winter Chill
Oh the winds of winter chill me,
Shivers to my very bones,
Snowy mountain scenes that thrill me,
Fine blue skies with various tones,
Of colours that are so uplifting,
Fresh air flowing through my veins,
This is a time of snowflakes drifting,
Onto cold and leafy lanes.
Oh the winds of winter fill me,
With the hope for better days,