SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
At the end of the garden walk
the wind and its satellite wait for me;
their meaning I will not know
sometimes I find myself
weeping
at the oddest moment
No, nothing much has changed.
A year later, the world is still one you’d recognize —
no winged cars to clog the air,
Rain at Muchalat, rain at Sooke,
And rain, they say, from Yale to Skeena,
And the skid-roads blind, and never a look
What horror to awake at night
and in the dimness see the light.
…
You are still on the highway and the great light of
noon comes over the asphalt, the gravelled
shoulders. You are on the highway, there is a kind of
What torture lurks within a single thought
When grown too constant, and however kind,
However welcome still, the weary mind
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
I was ready for a new experience.
All the old ones had burned out.
They lay in little ashy heaps along the roadside
Hello, listen, I’m on a field phone, do not speak until I say “over.”
Repeat, don’t talk until I say “over.” Over. Do you understand,
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
My bands of silk and miniver
Momently grew heavier;
The black gauze was beggarly thin;
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; —
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The train has stopped for no apparent reason
In the wilds;
A frozen lake is level and fretted over
They are all gone away,
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
Mr. Kessler, you know, was in the army,
And he drew six dollars a month as a pension,
And stood on the corner talking politics,
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by,
“Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we can.
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
When I was fair and young, then favor graced me.
Of many was I sought their mistress for to be.
But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore:
I
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
O quam te memorem virgo...
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair —
Lean on a garden urn —
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched,
So, we’ll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Shall earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now?
Since passion may not fire thee
The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light