Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men's bones he saw bequeath
16 lines, 1 comment
Sinuously winding through the room
On smokey tongues of sweetened cigarettes, --
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We will make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
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Forgetfulness is like a song
That, freed from beat and measure, wanders.
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As silent as a mirror is believed
Realities plunge in silence by . . .
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The little voices of the prairie dogs
Are tireless . . .
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How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
44 lines, 3 comments
You who desired so much--in vain to ask--
Yet fed you hunger like an endless task,
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--And yet this great wink of eternity,
Of rimless floods, unfettered leewardings,
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My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, --
No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',
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Through the bound cable strands, the arching path
Upward, veering with light, the flight of strings,—
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I met a man in South Street, tall—
a nervous shark tooth swung on his chain.
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Perspective never withers from their eyes;
They keep that docile edict of the Spring
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I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South,
No wraith, but utterly—as still more alone
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The swift red flesh, a winter king—
Who squired the glacier woman down the sky?
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Performances, assortments, résumés—
Up Times Square to Columbus Circle lights
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Moonmoth and grasshopper that flee our page
And still wing on, untarnished of the name
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The tarantula rattling at the lily’s foot
Across the feet of the dead, laid in white sand
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The willows carried a slow sound,
A sarabande the wind mowed on the mead.
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The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
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It sheds a shy solemnity,
This lamp in our poor room.
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Regard the capture here, 0 Janus-faced,
As double as the hands that twist this glass.
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Where the cedar leaf divides the sky
I heard the sea.
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Infinite consanguinity it bears
This tendered theme of you that light
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Yes, I being
the terrible puppet of my dreams, shall
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A land of leaning ice
Hugged by plaster-grey arches of sky,
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Where icy and bright dungeons lift
Of swimmers their lost morning eyes,
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There are no stars to-night
But those of memory.
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The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn
Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell
48 lines, 1 comment
"\And so we may arrive by Talmud skill
And profane Greek to raise the building up
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