sexta-feira, 12 de maio de 2017

Interlude - Edith Sitwell


Interlude - Edith Sitwell

Amid this hot green glowing gloom
A word falls with a raindrop’s boom...
Like baskets of ripe fruit in air
The bird-songs seem, suspended where
Those goldfinches—the ripe warm lights        
Peck slyly at them—take quick flights.
My feet are feathered like a bird
Among the shadows scarcely heard;
I bring you branches green with dew
And fruits that you may crown anew
Your whirring waspish-gilded hair
Amid this cornucopia—
Until your warm lips bear the stains
And bird-blood leap within your veins.

Lone Dog Irene Rutherford McLeod
The Long-Nosed Fair Christopher Smart

Song of Myself - Section 27 Walt Whitman

Song of Myself - Section 39 Walt Whitman
Song: Why so pale and wan, fond Lover? Sir John Suckling
To F. W. Edith Wyatt
To Those Who've Fail'd Walt Whitman
Upon the Banks O Flowing Clyde William Reid
When We Are Parted Hamilton Aïdé

I Come Singing - Jacob Auslander

I COME singing the keen sweet smell of grass
Cut after rain,
And the cool ripple of drops that pass
Over the grain,
And the drenched light drifting across the plain.        5

I come chanting the mad bloom of the fall.
And the swallows
Rallying in clans to the rapid call
From the hollows,
And the wet west wind swooping down on the swallows.        10

I come shrilling the sharp white of December,
The night like. quick steel
Swung by a gust in its plunge through the pallid ember
Of dusk, and the heel
Of the fierce green dark grinding the stars like steel.

Song of Myself - Section 20 Walt Whitman
Song of Myself - Section 20 Walt Whitman
Song of Myself - Section 25 Walt Whitman

Song of Myself - Section 34 Walt Whitman

The Height of the Ridiculous - Oliver Wendell Holmes

I WROTE some lines once on a time
    In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
    They were exceeding good.

They were so queer, so very queer,        5
    I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in the general way,
    A sober man am I.

I called my servant, and he came;
    How kind it was of him        10
To mind a slender man like me,
    He of the mighty limb.

“These to the printer,” I exclaimed,
    And, in my humorous way,
I added (as a trifling jest,)        15
    “There ’ll be the devil to pay.”

He took the paper, and I watched,
    And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face
    Was all upon the grin.        20

He read the next; the grin grew broad,
    And shot from ear to ear;
He read the third; a chuckling noise
    I now began to hear.

The fourth; he broke into a roar;        25
    The fifth; his waistband split;
The sixth; he burst five buttons off,
    And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
    I watched that wretched man,        30
And since, I never dare to write
    As funny as I can.

He Mourns For The Change That Has Come Upon Him And His Beloved, And Longs For The End Of The World William Butler Yeats

Country Road - Marie Louise Hersey

I CAN’T forget a gaunt grey barn
  Like a face without an eye
That kept recurring by field and tarn
  Under a Cape Cod sky.

I can’t forget a woman’s hand,        5
  Roughened and scarred by toil
That beckoned clear-eyed children tanned
  By sun and wind and soil.

Beauty and hardship, bent and bound
  Under the selfsame yoke:        10
Babies with bare knees plump and round
  And stooping women folk.

Care-charmer sleep - Samuel Daniel

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born:
Relieve my languish, and restore the light,
With dark forgetting of my cares, return;
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night's untruth.
Cease dreams, th' imagery of our day-desires,
To model forth the passions of the morrow;
Never let rising sun approve you liars,
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;
And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

The Builder - Willard Wattles

SMOOTHING a cypress beam
    With a scarred hand,
I saw a carpenter
    In a far land.
Down past the flat roofs         5
    Poured the white sun;
But still he bent his back,
    The patient one.
And I paused surprised
    In that queer place  10
To find an old man
    With a haunting face.
"Who art thou, carpenter,
    Of the bowed head;
And what buildest thou?"  15
    "Heaven," he said.

Short Poetry Collection 058

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