Heartbreak

Queen Virtues Court, which some call Stellaes face,
Prepar'd by Natures choicest furniture,
Hath his front built of alabaster pure;
Gold is the couering of that stately place.
The door, by which sometimes comes forth her grace,
Red porphir is, which locke of pearl makes sure,
Whose porches rich (which name of chekes indure)
Marble, mixt red and white, doe interlace.
The windowes now, through which this heau'nly guest
Looks ouer the world, and can find nothing such,
Which dare claime from those lights the name of best,
Of touch they are, that without touch do touch,
Which Cupids self, from Beauties mine did draw:
Of touch they are, and poore I am their straw.

Grass commence a-comin'
Thoo de thawin' groun',
Evah bird dat whistles
Keepin' noise erroun';
Cain't sleep in de mo'nin',
Case befo' it 's light
Bluebird an' de robin,
Done begun to fight.

Bluebird sass de robin,
Robin sass him back,
Den de bluebird scol' him
'Twell his face is black.
Would n' min' de quoilin'
All de mo'nin' long,
'Cept it wakes me early,
Case hit 's done in song.

Anybody wo'kin'
Wants to sleep ez late
Ez de folks 'll 'low him,
An' I wish to state
(Co'se dis ain't to scattah,
But 'twix' me an' you),
I could stan' de bedclothes,
Kin' o' latah, too.

'T ain't my natchul feelin',
Dis hyeah mopin' spell.
I stan's early risin'
Mos'ly moughty well;
But de ve'y minute,
...

    I sing the sofa! It had stood for years,
    An invitation to benign repose,
    A foe to all the fretful brood of fears,
    Bidding the weary eye-lid sink and close.
    Massive and deep and broad it was and bland -
    In short the noblest sofa in the land.

    You, too, my friend, my solid friend, I sing,
    Whom on an afternoon I did behold
    Eying - 'twas after lunch - the cushioned thing,
    And murmuring gently, "Here are realms of gold,
    And I shall visit them," you said, "and be
    The sofa's burden till it's time for tea."

    "Let those who will go forth," you said, "and dare,
    Beyond the cluster of the little shops,
    To strain their limbs and take the eager air,
    Seeking the heights of Hedsor and its copse.
    I s...

    A magnificent Red Devil
    splayed out in his tracks;
    this tumultuous soul, baron of the backwoods
    with his provenance unknown ...
    this compromise to individuality
    abandons him to chorome death
    under a canopy-canapé dream-coated rock dome.

    Trepanned, empire of trees, dark matter
    & a castle of leaves,
    a fish-hawk for a tomahawk
    in his thermo-cline eyes ...
    dithyrambic young osprey in the offing,
    candelabra under stars.

    Going inland for freshwater prawns,
    sandalwood and tortoiseshells
    finding bewitchment amid moving cars.

O Ma ole canoe! w'at's matter wit' you, an' w'y was you be so slow?
Don 't I work hard enough on de paddle, an' still you don 't seem to go,
No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current she don 't be strong,
Den w'y are you lak lazy feller, too sleepy for move along?

"I 'member de tam w'en you jomp de sam' as deer wit' de wolf behin'
An' brochet on d top de water, you scare heem mos' off hees min';
But fish don 't care for you now at all, only jus' mebbe wink de eye,
For he know it 's easy get out de way w'en you was a passin' by."

I 'm spikin' dis way de oder day w'en I 'm out wit'de ole canoe,
Crossin' de point w'ere I see las' fall wan very beeg caribou,
W'en somebody say, "Phil-o-rum, mon vieux, wat's matter wit' you youse'f?"
An' who do you s'pose was talkin'? w'y de...

We talked of yesteryears, of trails and treasure,
    Of men who played the game and lost or won;
Of mad stampedes, of toil beyond all measure,
    Of camp-fire comfort when the day was done.
We talked of sullen nights by moon-dogs haunted,
    Of bird and beast and tree, of rod and gun;
Of boat and tent, of hunting-trip enchanted
    Beneath the wonder of the midnight sun;
Of bloody-footed dogs that gnawed the traces,
    Of prisoned seas, wind-lashed and winter-locked;
The ice-gray dawn was pale upon our faces,
    Yet still we filled the cup and still we talked.

The city street was dimmed. We saw the glitter
    Of moon-picked brilliants on the virgin snow,
And down the drifted canyon heard the bitter,
    Relentless slogan of the winds of woe.
The ci...

    What are you doing here, Tom Thorne, on the white top-knot o' the world,
    Where the wind has the cut of a naked knife and the stars are rapier keen?
    Hugging a smudgy willow fire, deep in a lynx robe curled,
    You that's a lord's own son, Tom Thorne - what does your madness mean?

    Go home, go home to your clubs, Tom Thorne! home to your evening dress!
    Home to your place of power and pride, and the feast that waits for you!
    Why do you linger all alone in the splendid emptiness,
    Scouring the Land of the Little Sticks on the trail of the caribou?

    Why did you fall off the Earth, Tom Thorne, out of our social ken?
    What did your deep damnation prove? What was your dark despair?
    Oh with the width of a world between, and years to the count of ten,...

If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil’d,
Which labouring for invention bear amiss
The second burthen of a former child!
O! that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Wh’r we are mended, or wh’r better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O! sure I am the wits of former days,
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

1.

Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine:
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.


2.

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem.


3.

When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd that, too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own.


4.

Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk,
Within those once celestial eyes.


5.

These might the boldest Sylph appall,
When gleaming...

Many things the garden shows,
And pleased I stray
From tree to tree
Watching the white pear-bloom,
Bee-infested quince or plum.
I could walk days, years, away
Till the slow ripening, secular tree
Had reached its fruiting-time,
Nor think it long.



Solar insect on the wing
In the garden murmuring,
Soothing with thy summer horn
Swains by winter pinched and worn.

Behind my father's house there lies
    A little grassy brae,
Whose face my childhood's busy feet
    Ran often up in play,
Whence on the chimneys I looked down
    In wonderment alway.

Around the house, where'er I turned,
    Great hills closed up the view;
The town 'midst their converging roots
    Was clasped by rivers two;
From one hill to another sprang
    The sky's great arch of blue.

Oh! how I loved to climb their sides,
    And in the heather lie;
The bridle on my arm did hold
    The pony feeding by;
Beneath, the silvery streams; above,
    The white clouds in the sky.

And now, in wandering about,
    Whene'er I see a hill,
A childish feeling of delight
    Springs in my bosom still;
And longings for th...

Three women stood by the river's flood
In the gas-lamp's murky light,
A devil watched them on the left,
And an angel on the right.

The clouds of lead flowed overhead;
The leaden stream below;
They marvelled much, that outcast three,
Why Fate should use them so.

Said one: "I have a mother dear,
Who lieth ill abed,
And by my sin the wage I win
From which she hath her bread."

Said one: "I am an outcast's child,
And such I came on earth.
If me ye blame, for this my shame,
Whom blame ye for my birth?"

The third she sank a sin-blotched face,
And prayed that she might rest,
In the weary flow of the stream below,
As on her mother's breast.

Now past there came a godly man,
Of goodly stock and blood,
And as he ...

Sleep, when a soul that her own clouds cover
Wails that sorrow should always keep
Watch, nor see in the gloom above her
Sleep,

Down, through darkness naked and steep,
Sinks, and the gifts of his grace recover
Soon the soul, though her wound be deep.

God beloved of us, all men's lover,
All most weary that smile or weep
Feel thee afar or anear them hover,
Sleep.

Cape aux Morts.
Cape Diable,
Points of Massacre
Rocks and Island
a plethora of Wreck Bays.

But on Funk Island, nothing matters.
Brahmsian rhetoric could describe the island
Prokofievian,
the sound of Mars
homuncular forms;
an imperative monotone.

Murrelings fell from cliffs into the sea,
rose and floated in foam, screaming.
Olivaceous puddles.
Murres and gannets, kittiwakes,
sun splashed white & pitiless
light on rock    -
argon, radon, krypton
seasons of millennia suffocating
in the original gases of earth:
xenon, neon.
Granite intestines
with its outer edge lost
in the darkness between the stars.

When I was young, my heart elate
    With ardent notions warm,
I thirsted to inaugurate
    A spirit of reform;
The universe was all awry,
    Philosophy despite,
And mundane things disjointed I
    Was bound to set aright.

My mind conceived a million plans,
    For Hope was brave and strong,
But dared not with unaided hands
    Combat a giant wrong;
So with caress I sought to coax
    Those who had humored me
In infancy - the dear old folks -
    And gain their sympathy.

But quarreling with extant laws
    They would have deemed a shame
Who clung to error, just because
    Their fathers did the same.
I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,
    Where grace and beauty stirred
At revelry's impetuous calls,
    To make ...

I wonder
how it would be here with you,
where the wind
that has shaken off its dust in low valleys
touches one cleanly,
as with a new-washed hand,
and pain
is as the remote hunger of droning things,
and anger
but a little silence
sinking into the great silence.

I.

    Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
        Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
    Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,
        And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

II.

    Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting;
        It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e;
    Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie,
        The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

III.

    Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers!
        O how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
    Awaken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,
        And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

IV.

    But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie,
        O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main;...

The cattle crowding round this beverage clear
To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod
The encircling turf into a barren clod;
Through which the waters creep, then disappear,
Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near;
Yet, o'er the brink, and round the limestone cell
Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well,"
Name that first struck by chance my startled ear)
A tender Spirit broods, the pensive Shade
Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid
By hooded Votaresses with saintly cheer;
Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild
Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled
Into the shedding of "too soft a tear."