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What Is Love
The funny humanity of today breaks hearts
All we want is to be seen in the internet
All she wants is to wear an expensive ring
My heart is pure yet she forgets that
Some sigh for this and that,
My wishes don't go far;
The world may wag at will,
So I have my cigar.
I've got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death
Song Of Seventy Horses
Once again the Steamer at Calais, the tackles
Easing the car-trays on to the quay. Release her!
Sign-refill, and let me away with my horses
(Seventy Thundering Horses!)
A Short Poem or Else Not Say I
True pleasure breathes not city air,
Nor in Art's temples dwells,
The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,
And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.
But everybody said, 'Watch out, that's Tiger Man McCool.
He's had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.
Ode To Aphrodite
Deathless Aphrodite, throned in flowers,
Daughter of Zeus, O terrible enchantress,
With this sorrow, with this anguish, break my spirit
Lady, not longer!
Lorsque, par un dÃ©cret des puissances suprÃªmes,
Le PoÃ¨te apparaÃ®t en ce monde ennuyÃ©,
Sa mÃ¨re Ã©pouvantÃ©e et pleine de blasphÃ¨mes
Crispe ses poings vers Dieu, qui la prend en pitiÃ©:
Mortals, that behold a Woman,
Rising 'twixt the Moon and Sun;
Who am I the heavens assume? an
All am I, and I am one.
sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Where ever something breathes
Heart beating the rise and fall
Of mountains, the waves upon the sky
Of seas, the terror is our ignorance, that's
Go to sleep-though of course you will not-
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
William Carlos Williams
The Little Ladybird
Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home!
The field-mouse has gone to her nest,
The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,
And the bees and the birds are at rest.
That boy I took in the car last night,
With the body that awfully sagged away,
And the lips blood-crisped, and the eyes flame-bright,
And the poor hands folded and cold as clay-
My country, My home,
My King, My Leader,
My Parents, My Teacher
My name, My identity.
Birds In The Night
Vous n'avez pas eu toute patience,
Cela se comprend par malheur, de reste.
Vous êtes si jeune! et l'insouciance,
C'est le lot amer de l'âge céleste!
As I was saying . . . (No, thank you; I never take cream with my tea;
Cows weren't allowed in the trenches-got out of the habit, y'see.)
As I was saying, our Colonel leaped up like a youngster of ten:
“Come on, lads!” he shouts, “and we'll show 'em,” and he sprang to the head of the men.
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'
Trudging down the route,
the dark and feared one,
Cornellia saw a small angel turned demon
You see faces with no identity ,
You see bodies with no destiny.
Men slow down their cars on the road,
Where 'love' is sold,
If I were Lord of Tartary,
Myself, and me alone,
My bed should be of ivory,
Of beaten gold my throne;
Walter De La Mare
They dumped it on the lonely road,
Then like a streak they sped;
And as along the way I strode
I thought that it was dead:
The Songs Of Selma
ARGUMENTAddress to the evening star:
An apostrophe to Fingal and his times. Minonasings before the king the song of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other specimens of their poetical talents; according to an annual custom established by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians.
Home And Where It Is
(An Indiana judge has recently ruled: As to the right of the
husband to decide the location of the home that “home is
where the husband is.”)
Alice Duer Miller
Down the road someone is practising scales,
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails,
Man's heart expands to tinker with his car
For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar;
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities
Edgar Allan Poe
I thought I would go daft when Joey died.
He was my first, and wise beyond his years.
For nigh a hundred nights I cried and cried,
Until my weary eyes burned up my tears.
Through the starry hollow
Of the summer night
I would follow, follow
Hesperus the bright,
C. S. Lewis
We've travelled per Joe Gardiner, a humping of our swag
In the country of the Gidgee and Belar.
We've swum the Di'mantina with our raiment in a bag,
And we've travelled per superior motor car,
Endymion: Book Iv
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
Over The Darkened City
Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
Conrad Potter Aiken
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats,
At once the Monarch's and the Muse's seats,
Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids!
Unlock your springs, and open all your shades.
When our cars touched
When you lifted the hood of mine
To see the intimate workings underneath,
When we were bound together