We have encountered storms Perfect in their drench and wreck Each of us bears an ornament of grief A ring, a notebook, a ticket torn, scar It is how humans know their kind— What is known as love, what can become the heart’s food stored away for some future Famine Love remains a jewel in… Read More May Perpetual Light Shine
I sat at the feet of beauty, unable to behold her; Choking as I were, Life draining out of my body, Yet how magical the roses and the greens, The incandescent light of life they emanated, How they must have longed for me to behold them in that very moment, attracted to their spirit, The… Read More Blocks That Are Built ..
They were selling love outside the market near the corner shop, It was illegal. I watched them day by day try to get away from the law-makers. They looked like murderers. No one came by to buy it or offer them their kindness, Love is too expensive to be bought in these ways, Everyone grew… Read More Illegalities
Walter de la Mare One moment take thy rest. Out of mere nought in space Beauty moved human breast To tell in this far face A dream in noonday seen, Never to fade or pass; A breath-time’s mute delight; A joy in flight: The aught desire doth mean Sighing, Alas!
Out of your whole life give but a moment! All of your life that has gone before, All to come after it,—so you ignore, So you make perfect the present,—condense, In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment, Thought and feeling and soul and sense— Merged in a moment which gives me at last You… Read More Now
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I… Read More Song of the Open Road, I
Great carnal mountains crouching in the cloud That marrieth the young earth with a ring, Yet still its thoughts builds heavenward, whence spring Wee villages of vapor, sunset-proud.— And to the meanest door hastes one pure-browed White-fingered star, a little, childish thing, The busy needle of her light to bring, And stitch, and stitch, upon… Read More Sunset