A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here
A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human naturefeels.
It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:
A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.
45 Comments | All, Dickinson, Emily, USA | Permalink
Posted by poetry
Emily Dickinson — Because I could not stop for Death
October 24, 2005
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then ‘t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.
32 Comments | All, Dickinson, Emily, USA | Permalink
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Katherine Mansfield — Camomile Tea
October 22, 2005
Outside the sky is light with stars;
There’s a hollow roaring from the sea.
And, alas! for the little almond flowers,
The wind is shaking the almond tree.
How little I thought, a year ago,
In the horrible cottage upon the Lee
That he and I should be sitting so
And sipping a cup of camomile tea.
Light as feathers the witches fly,
The horn of the moon is plain to see;
By a firefly under a jonquil flower
A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.
We might be fifty, we might be five,
So snug, so compact, so wise are we!
Under the kitchen-table leg
My knee is pressing against his knee.
Our shutters are shut, the fire is low,
The tap is dripping peacefully;
The saucepan shadows on the wall
Are black and round and plain to see.
9 Comments | All, Mansfield, Katherine, New Zealand | Permalink
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Judith Wright — The Old Prison
October 20, 2005
The rows of cells are unroofed,
a flute for the wind’s mouth,
who comes with a breath of ice
from the blue caves of the south.
O dark and fierce day:
the wind like an angry bee
hunts for the black honey
in the pits of the hollow sea.
Waves of shadow wash
the empty shell bone-bare,
and like a bone it sings
a bitter song of air.
Who built and laboured here?
The wind and the sea say
-Their cold nest is broken
and they are blown away-
They did not breed nor love,
each in his cell alone
cried as the wind now cries
through this flute of stone.
52 Comments | All, Australia, Wright, Judith | Permalink
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Leonard Okema — Acholi Land!
October 19, 2005
Acholiland oh acholiland,
The once happy mother of proud warriors,
To you we wail,
For redemption from the fangs of terror,
The terror that bleeds us white,
The terror that siphons your blood
that runs in our veins,
Lambs without a shepherd we remain,
Driven away from you into the darkness,
Mama we yearn for an end to our misgivings,
Oh! Acholiland,
Do you hear us when we call out to you?
When our cries run our voices frail,
When wantons hunt us, your children down,
The harmony you taught us is no more,
Your children have learnt the little art of
unleashing terror,
Unfortunately on your very siblings,
Pain is all we feel and grim is what we see,
Blood is what we pay for being your children,
Oh! Mother, spread your wings and redeem
us, to rise and shine again.
40 Comments | All, Okema, Leonard, Uganda | Permalink
Posted by poetry
Jorge Carrera Andrade — Nothing
October 18, 2005
In bookstores there are no books,
in books no words,
in words no essence:
there are only husks.
In museums and waiting rooms
are painted canvases and fetishes.
In the Academy there are only recordings
of the wildest dances.
In mouths there is only smoke,
in the eyes only distance.
There is a drum in each ear.
A Sahara yawns in the mind.
Nothing frees us from the desert.
Nothing saves us from the drum.
Painted books shed their pages,
becoming husks of Nothing.
8 Comments | Andrade, J. Carrera, Brazil | Permalink
Posted by poetry
Robert Lee Frost — The Rose Family
October 16, 2005
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But now the theory goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose-
But were always a rose.
13 Comments | All, Frost, Robert Lee, USA | Permalink
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William Blake — The Sick Rose
October 15, 2005
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
18 Comments | All, Blake, William, England | Permalink
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William Blake — A Divine Image
October 13, 2005
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
18 Comments | All, Blake, William, England | Permalink
Posted by poetry
" Previous Entries
ARCHIVES
October 2005
CATEGORIES
All
Andrade, J. Carrera
Australia
Barret Browning, E.
Blake, William
Brazil
Coleridge, S. Taylor
Dickinson, Emily
England
Frost, Robert Lee
Greece
Keats, John
Kipling, Rudyard
Lord Byron
Mansfield, Katherine
New Zealand
Okema, Leonard
Poe, Edgar Allan
Sappho
Teasdale, Sara
Uganda
USA
Wright, Judith
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Charles Babbage
Lezioni di russo
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