Murmour From the East and Other Poems

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The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous. River and sunset and scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide? The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the. What is more subtle than this which ties me to the. Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning. What the study could not teach—what the preaching. Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg'd waves!

Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers! Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! Throb baffled and curious brain! Sound out, voices of young men! Live, old life! Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in. Come on, ships from the lower bay! Flaunt away, flags of all nations!

Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are, You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul, About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung. The words of true poems are the tuft and final applause. O for the dropping of raindrops in a song! O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song! It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time, I will have thousands of globes and all time. To push with resistless way and speed off in the distance.

I join the group of clam-diggers on the flats, I laugh and work with them, I joke at my work like a. I know the buoys, O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the. O something pernicious and dread! Something far away from a puny and pious life! Something unproved! Something escaped from the anchorage and driving free. To behold his calmness—to be warm'd in the rays of his. To go to battle—to hear the bugles play and the drums To hear the crash of artillery—to see the glittering of. To see men fall and die and not complain!

To taste the savage taste of blood—to be so devilish! To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy! There—she blows! Again I spring up the rigging to look with the rest—we descend, wild with excitement,. What attractions are these beyond any before? What beauty is this that descends upon me and rises out. Iowan's, Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys! To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work, To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops, To plough land in the spring for maize, To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in.

Joy of the glad light-beaming day, joy of the wide-. Joy of sweet music, joy of the lighted ball-room and the. Joy of the plenteous dinner, strong carouse and drinking? Joys of the solitary walk, the spirit bow'd yet proud, the.

Popular Poet: The Personal and the Political

The agonistic throes, the ecstasies, joys of the solemn. Joys of the thought of Death, the great spheres Time and. Joys all thine own undying one, joys worthy thee O. To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to. To be a sailor of the world bound for all ports, A ship itself, see indeed these sails I spread to the sun. Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music, Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys. Or hotels of granite and iron? Where are your jibes of being now? Where are your cavils about the soul now? Hindustanee, Served the mound-raiser on the Mississippi, served those.

Whom have you slaughter'd lately European headsman? Whose is that blood upon you so wet and sticky? Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains and the. Lawrence, or north in Kanada, or. Nor yield we mournfully majestic brothers, We who have grandly fill'd our time; With Nature's calm content, with tacit huge delight, We welcome what we wrought for through the past, And leave the field for them.

For them predicted long, For a superber race, they too to grandly fill their time, For them we abdicate, in them ourselves ye forest kings! In them these skies and airs, these mountain peaks,. Shasta, Nevadas, These huge precipitous cliffs, this amplitude, these valleys,. Time and Space, You hidden national will lying in your abysms, conceal'd. Colorado south, Lands bathed in sweeter, rarer, healthier air, valleys and. For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of.

O you youths, Western youths, So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and. Have the elder races halted? All the past we leave behind, We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world, Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labour. We detachments steady throwing, Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains. We primeval forests felling, We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep. Colorado men are we, From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the. From Nebraska, from Arkansas, Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the.

O resistless restless race! O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender. O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,. Raise the mighty mother mistress, Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry. See my children, resolute children, By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or.

On and on the compact ranks, With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the. O to die advancing on! Are there some of us to droop and die? All the pulses of the world, Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement. Life's involv'd and varied pageants, All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work, All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with. All the hapless silent lovers, All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and. I too with my soul and body, We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, Through these shores amid the shadows, with the.

Lo, the darting bowling orb! Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering sons and. O you daughters of the West! O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and. Minstrels latent on the prairies! Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have. Not for delectations sweet, Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and. Do the feasters gluttonous feast? Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the.

Has the night descended? Was the road of late so toilsome? Still with sound of trumpet, Far, far off the daybreak call—hark! They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops,. Could I wish humanity different? Could I wish the people made of wood and stone? Or that there be no justice in destiny or time?

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And who are you, blabbing by rote, years, pages,. What about these likes of myself that draw me so close. Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds. What is that little black thing I see there in the white? O troubled reflection in the sea! O throat! O throbbing heart! And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night. Paumanok, Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant, Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her. The old graveyards of the hills have hurried to see! Cock'd hats of mothy mould—crutches made of mist!

Arms in slings—old men leaning on young men's. Does the ague convulse your limbs? President's marshal, If you groan such groans you might balk the government. You have got your revenge, old buster—the crown is. Liberty, let others despair of you—I never despair of. Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean,. I rendezvous with my poems, A traveler's lodging and breakfast as journey through. For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon man. These eager business aims—books politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness? O Manhattan, my own, my peerless!

O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis! O truer. How you sprang—how you threw off the costumes of. Manhattan arming. The blood of the city up—arm'd! Would the talkers be talking? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder. How envied by all the earth. I hear the drums beat and the trumpets blowing, I myself move abroad swift-rising flying then, I use the wings of the land-bird and use the wings of the.

New Orleans, I see far in the West the immense area of grain, I dwell. With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death? Eastern shore, and my Western shore the same, And all between those shores, and my ever-running. Mississippi with bends and chutes, And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my. O pennant! Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all—. I too leave the rest—great as it is, it is nothing—houses,. O banner so broad,. Niagara pouring, I travell'd the prairies over and slept on their breast, I.

O wild as my heart, and powerful! Heard the continuous thunder as it bellow'd after the. What, to pavements and homesteads here, what were. What, to passions I witness around me to-day? How it climbs with daring feet and hands—how it How the true thunder bellows after the lightning—how. How Democracy with desperate vengeful port strides on,. And do you rise higher than ever yet O days, O cities! When you yourself forever provide to defend me? For you provided me Washington—and now these also. Proud and passionate city—mettlesome, mad, extrava-.

Spring up O city—not for peace alone, but be indeed. Fear not—submit to no models but your own, O city! Behold me—incarnate me, as I have incarnated you! Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately. Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the. And come to the entry mother, to the front door come. She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her. All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she. Who are you my dear comrade? Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming? And sullen hymns of defeat? In mercy come quickly. I should never tire, Give me a perfect child, give me away aside from the.

Give me interminable eyes—give me women—give me. Let me see new ones every day—let me hold new ones. Give me such shows—give me the streets of Manhattan! Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching—give. The soldiers in companies or regiments—some starting. O such for me! O an intense life, full to repletion and The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me! The saloon of the steamer! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me. T HE last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath, On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,.

Lo, the moon ascending, Up from the east the silvery round moon, Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,. I see a sad procession, And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles, All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,. I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring, And every blow of the great convulsive drums,. For the son is brought with the father, In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, Two veterans son and father dropt together,. Now nearer blow the bugles, And the drums strike more convulsive, And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,.

And the strong dead-march enwraps me. In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd, 'Tis some mother's large transparent face,. O strong dead-march you please me! O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me! O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,. Oregonese, shall be friends triune, More precious to each other than all the riches of the.

O lands! I hear the sounds of the different missiles, the short. Why rising by the roadside here, do you the colours. Are the things so strange and marvelous you see or. No more credulity's race, abiding-temper'd race, Race henceforth owning no law but the law of itself, Race of passion and the storm. I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face. How I heard you flap and rustle, cloth defiant! Flag cerulean—sunny flag, with the orbs of night. Ah my silvery beauty—ah my woolly white and crimson! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty! My sacred one, my mother.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Did you find what I sang erewhile so hard to follow? Why I was not singing erewhile for you to follow, to. O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul. And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I. America, chant me the carol of victory, And strike up the marches of Libertad, marches more.

Who are you that wanted only a book to join you in. If you would be freer than all that has been before, come. Columbia, Niagara, Hudson, spending themselves. Northeast, Northwest, Southwest, Manhattan firemen, the Yankee swap, southern planta-. But damn that which spends itself with no thought of the. States be fused into the compact organism of a.

Equality, They live in the feelings of young men and the best. O the hard-contested fight! The cannons ope their rosy-flashing muzzles—the hurtled. The place is august, the terms obdurate. Have you consider'd the organic compact of the first day. Commissioners, ratified by the States, and read by. Washington at the head of the army? Have you possess'd yourself of the Federal Constitution? Do you see who have left all feudal processes and poems. Are you faithful to things? Are you not of some coterie? Have you vivified yourself from the maternity of these Have you too the old ever-fresh forbearance and.

Do you hold the like love for those hardening to. Have you not imported this or the spirit of it in some Is it not a mere tale? Has it not dangled long at the heels of the poets,. Does it not assume that what is notoriously gone is. Does it answer universal needs? Does it sound with trumpet-voice the proud victory of. Can your performance face the open fields and the.

Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear. Have real employments contributed to it? What does it mean to American persons, progresses,. Chicago, Kanada, Arkansas? Does it see behind the apparent custodians the real. Does it see what finally befalls, and has always finally. What mocking and scornful negligence? The track strew'd with the dust of skeletons, By the roadside others disdainfully toss'd. Have I not through life kept you and yours before me?

These States, what are they except myself? I launch'd you forth, Not to call even those lofty bards here by Ontario's. Yet bards of latent armies, a million soldiers waiting. Ample Ohio's, Kanada's bards—bards of California! You by my charm I invoke. Ottawa, Some to Atlantica's bays, and so to the great salt brine. Out of the depths the storm's abysmic waves, who knows Raging over the vast, with many a broken spar and. Thou, bathed, choked, swimming in plenty, Thou lucky Mistress of the tranquil barns, Thou Prairie Dame that sittest in the middle and lookest.

West, Dispensatress, that by a word givest a thousand miles,. Ask room alas the ghastly ranks, the armies dread that. In exile I sacredly observe The custom of my fatherland: I freedom to a birdlet give On Spring's holiday serene. And now I too have consolation: Wherefore murmur against my God When at least to one living being I could of freedom make a gift?

In silent gardens, in the spring, in the darkness of the night Sings above the rose from the east the nightingale; But dear rose neither feeling has, nor listens it, But under its lover's hymn waveth it and slumbers. Dost thou not sing thus to beauty cold? She neither listens, nor the bard she feels. Thou gazest? Bloom she does; thou callest? A floweret , withered, odorless In a book forgot I find; And already strange reflection Cometh into my mind.

Bloomed, where? In what spring? And how long ago? And plucked by whom? Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand? And wherefore left thus here? Was it in memory of a tender meeting? Was it in memory of a fated parting? Was it in memory of a lonely walk? In the peaceful fields or in the shady woods? Lives he still?

Lives she still? And where their nook this very day? Or are they too withered Like unto this unknown floweret? Do I then not fondle thee?

Thy grain to eat art thou not free? Is not thy harness ornamented, Is not thy rein of silk, Is not thy shoe of silver, Thy stirrup not of gold? The steed in sorrow answer gives: Hence am I quiet Because the distant tramp I hear, The trumpet's blow and the arrow's whizz; And hence I neigh, since in the field No longer feed I shall, Nor in beauty live and fondling, Neither shine with harness bright. Hence it is that grieves my spirit: That in place of my chaprak With thy skin shall cover he My perspiring sides. Child , I dare not over thee Pronounce a blessing; Thou art of consolation a quiet angel: May then happy be thy lot.

Ere the poet summoned is To Apollo's holy sacrifice In the world's empty cares Engrossed is half-hearted he. His holy lyre silent is And cold sleep his soul locks in; And of the world's puny children, Of all puniest perhaps is he. Yet no sooner the heavenly word His keen ear hath reached, Than up trembles the singer's soul Like unto an awakened eagle.

The world's pastimes him now weary And mortals' gossip now he shuns To the feet of popular idol His lofty head bends not he. Poet , not popular applause shalt thou prize! Of raptured praise shall pass the momentary noise; The fool's judgment hear thou shalt, and the cold mob's laughter— Calm stand, and firm be, and—sober!

Thou art king: live alone. On the free road Walk, whither draws thee thy spirit free: Ever the fruits of beloved thoughts ripening, Never reward for noble deeds demanding. I showed her Heights she never saw. I sing to use the Waiting. I sometimes drop it, for a Quick. I started Early — Took my Dog. I stepped from Plank to Plank. I stole them from a Bee. I sued the News — yet feared — the News. I suppose the time will come. I taste a liquor never brewed.

I tend my flowers for thee. I think I was enchanted. I think just how my shape will rise. I think that the Root of the Wind is Water. I think the Hemlock likes to stand. I think the longest Hour of all. I think to Live — may be a Bliss. I thought that nature was enough. I thought the Train would never come. I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl. I took my Power in my Hand. I took one Draught of Life. I tried to think a lonelier Thing. I want — it pleaded — All its life. I was a Phoebe — nothing more. I was the slightest in the House. I watched her face to see which way. I watched the Moon around the House.

I went to Heaven. I went to thank Her. I worked for chaff and earning Wheat. I would distil a cup. I would not paint — a picture. I Years had been from Home. I'd rather recollect a setting. I'll clutch — and clutch. I'll send the feather from my Hat! I'll tell you how the Sun rose. I'm ceded — I've stopped being Theirs. I'm Nobody! I'm saying every day. I'm sorry for the Dead — Today. I'm the little Heart's Ease! I'm wife — I've finished that. I've dropped my Brain — My Soul is numb. I've got an arrow here. I've heard an Organ talk, sometimes. I've known a Heaven, like a Tent. I've none to tell me to but Thee.

I've nothing else — to bring, You know. I've seen a Dying Eye. Ideals are the Fairly Oil. If all the griefs I am to have. If any sink, assure that this, now standing. If anybody's friend be dead. If Blame be my side — forfeit Me. If ever the lid gets off my head. If He dissolve — then. If He were living — dare I ask. If I can stop one Heart from breaking. If I could bribe them by a Rose. If I could tell how glad I was. If I may have it, when it's dead. If I should cease to bring a Rose. If I should die. If I shouldn't be alive. If I'm lost — now.

If it had no pencil. If my Bark sink. If Nature smiles — the Mother must. If pain for peace prepares. If recollecting were forgetting. If she had been the Mistletoe. If the foolish, call them flowers. If this is fading. If those I loved were lost. If What we could — were what we would. If wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought. If you were coming in the Fall. If your Nerve, deny you. Image of Light, Adieu. Immortal is an ample word. Immured in Heaven! Impossibility, like Wine.

In Ebon Box, when years have flown. In falling Timbers buried. In lands I never saw — they say. In many and reportless places. In rags mysterious as these. In snow thou comest. In this short Life. In thy long Paradise of Light. In Winter in my Room. Inconceivably solemn! Is Bliss then, such Abyss. Is Heaven a Physician? Is Immortality a bane. Is it dead — Find it. Is it too late to touch you, Dear? Is it true, dear Sue? It always felt to me — a wrong. It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon. It came at last but prompter Death.

It came his turn to beg. It can't be Summer! It ceased to hurt me, though so slow. It did not surprise me. It don't sound so terrible — quite — as it did. It dropped so low — in my Regard. It feels a shame to be Alive. It is a lonesome Glee. It is an honorable Thought. It is easy to work when the soul is at play. It knew no lapse, nor Diminution. It knew no Medicine. It makes no difference abroad. It might be lonelier. It rises — passes — on our South. It sifts from Leaden Sieves. It sounded as if the Streets were running.

It stole along so stealthy. It struck me — every Day. It tossed — and tossed. It troubled me as once I was. It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone. It was a quiet seeming Day. It was a quiet way. It was given to me by the Gods. It was not Death, for I stood up. It was not Saint — it was too large. It was too late for Man. It will be Summer — eventually. It would have starved a Gnat. It would never be Common — more — I said.

It would not know if it were spurned. It's all I have to bring today. It's coming — the postponeless Creature. It's easy to invent a Life. It's like the Light. It's such a little thing to weep. It's thoughts — and just One Heart. Its Hour with itself. Its little Ether Hood. Joy to have merited the Pain. Judgment is justest. Just as He spoke it from his Hands. Just lost, when I was saved! Just Once! Oh least Request! Just so — Jesus — raps. Kill your Balm — and its Odors bless you. Knock with tremor. Knows how to forget! Lad of Athens, faithful be.

Lain in Nature — so suffice us. Lay this Laurel on the One. Least Bee that brew. Least Rivers — docile to some sea. Left in immortal Youth. Lest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today. Lest they should come — is all my fear. Lest this be Heaven indeed. Let down the Bars, Oh Death. Let me not mar that perfect Dream. Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip. Let my first Knowing be of thee. Let Us play Yesterday.

Lethe in my flower. Life — is what we make of it. Life, and Death, and Giants. Lift it — with the Feathers. Light is sufficient to itself. Lightly stepped a yellow star. Like Brooms of Steel. Like eyes that looked on Wastes. Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews. Like her the Saints retire. Like Men and Women Shadows walk.

Like Mighty Foot Lights — burned the Red. Like Rain it sounded till it curved. Like Some Old fashioned Miracle. Like Time's insidious wrinkle. Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush. Lives he in any other world. Long Years apart — can make no. Longing is like the Seed. Look back on Time, with kindly eyes. Love — is anterior to Life.

William Cowper

Love — is that later Thing than Death. Love — thou art high. Love can do all but raise the Dead. Love is done when Love's begun. Love reckons by itself — alone. Love's stricken why. Low at my problem bending. Luck is not chance. Make me a picture of the sun. Mama never forgets her birds. Many a phrase has the English language.

Many cross the Rhine. March is the Month of Expectation. Me — come! My dazzled face. Me from Myself — to banish. Me prove it now — Whoever doubt.

Poems of Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Me, change! Me, alter! Meeting by Accident. Midsummer, was it, when They died. Mine — by the Right of the White Election! Mine Enemy is growing old. More Life — went out — when He went. More than the Grave is closed to me. Morning — is the place for Dew. Morning — means Milking — to the Farmer.

Morning is due to all. Morning that comes but once. Morns like these — we parted. Most she touched me by her muteness. Much Madness is divinest Sense. Musicians wrestle everywhere. Must be a Woe. Mute thy Coronation. My best Acquaintances are those. My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease. My country need not change her gown.

My Eye is fuller than my vase. My Faith is larger than the Hills. My first well Day — since many ill. My friend attacks my friend! My friend must be a Bird. My Garden — like the Beach. My God — He sees thee. My Heart ran so to thee. My Heart upon a little Plate. My life closed twice before its close. My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun. My Maker — let me be. My nosegays are for Captives. My period had come for Prayer.

My Portion is Defeat — today. My Reward for Being, was This. My River runs to thee. My Season's furthest Flower. My Soul — accused me — And I quailed. My Triumph lasted till the Drums. My Wars are laid away in Books. My wheel is in the dark! My Worthiness is all my Doubt. Myself can read the Telegrams. Myself was formed — a Carpenter. Nature — sometimes sears a Sapling.

Nature — the Gentlest Mother is. Nature affects to be sedate. Nature and God — I neither knew. Nature assigns the Sun. Nature can do no more. Nature is what we see. Nature rarer uses Yellow. Never for Society. New feet within my garden go. No Autumn's intercepting Chill. No Bobolink — reverse His Singing. No Brigadier throughout the Year. No Crowd that has occurred. No ladder needs the bird but skies.

No Life can pompless pass away. No Man can compass a Despair. No man saw awe, nor to his house. No matter — now — Sweet. No matter where the Saints abide. No Notice gave She, but a Change. No Other can reduce. No Passenger was known to flee. No Prisoner be. No Rack can torture me. No Romance sold unto. Nobody knows this little Rose. None can experience sting. None who saw it ever told it. Noon — is the Hinge of Day. Nor Mountain hinder Me. Not all die early, dying young. Not any higher stands the Grave.

Not any more to be lacked. Not any sunny tone. Not at Home to Callers. Not in this World to see his face. Not knowing when the Dawn will come. Not One by Heaven defrauded stay. Not probable — The barest Chance. Not Revelation — 'tis — that waits. Not seeing, still we know. Not Sickness stains the Brave. Not so the infinite Relations — Below. Not that he goes — we love him more. Not that We did, shall be the test. Not to discover weakness is.

Poems (Pushkin, Panin, )/Miscellaneous Poems - Wikisource, the free online library

Not with a Club, the Heart is broken. Now I knew I lost her. Now I lay thee down to Sleep. Obtaining but our own Extent. Of all the Souls that stand create. Of all the Sounds despatched abroad. Of Being is a Bird. Of Bronze — and Blaze. Of Brussels — it was not. Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. Of Course — I prayed. Of Death I try to think like this. Of Glory not a Beam is left. Of God we ask one favor.

Of Life to own. Of Nature I shall have enough. Of nearness to her sundered Things.

Of Paradise' existence. Of Paul and Silas it is said. Of Silken Speech and Specious Shoe. Of so divine a Loss. Of the Heart that goes in, and closes the Door. Of their peculiar light. Of this is Day composed. Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? Of Tribulation, these are They. Of whom so dear. Of Yellow was the outer Sky. Oh Future! Oh give it Motion — deck it sweet. Oh Shadow on the Grass. Oh Sumptuous moment. Oh what a Grace is this. Oh, honey of an hour. On a Columnar Self. On my volcano grows the Grass.