William Rose Benet

Blake saw a treeful of angels at Peckham Rye,
And his hands could lay hold on the tiger's terrible heart.
Blake knew how deep is Hell, and Heaven how high,
And could build the universe from one tiny part.
...

Its cloven hoofprint on the sand
Will lead you—where?
Into a phantasmagoric land—
Beware!
...

High on the telephone wires, the paltry pitiful thing
Hangs in rags and tatters and loops of string.
A slight breeze shakes it, but cannot shake it down.
It flutters and flutters forgotten above the town.
...

There he moved, cropping the grass at the purple canyon's lip.
His mane was mixed with the moonlight that silvered his snow-white side,
For the moon sailed out of a cloud with the wake of a spectral ship.
I crouched and I crawled on my belly, my lariat coil looped wide.
...

The snug little room with its brazier fire aglow,
And Piet and Sachs and Vroom — all in the long ago, —
Oh, the very long ago! — o'er their pipes and hollands seen;
And on the wall the man-o'-war, and firelight on the screen!
...

"I burned, I wept, I sang: I burn, sing, weep again,
And I shall weep and sing, I shall forever burn
Until or death or time or fortune's turn
Shall still my eye and heart, still fire and pain."
...

He fought for his soul, and the stubborn fighting
Tried hard his strength.
'One needs seven souls for thin long requiting,'
He said at length.
...

He had green eyes, that excellent seer,
And little peaks to either ear.
He sat there, and I sat here.
...

Fold on fold the purple, crimson then—
Gold? I shook my head and turned away.
What? I turned and glared in that barbaric den.
'Gray!'
...

Your pursed lips suddenly sucked in a sound that your horse
Leapt to. He tossed his head and stretched his muzzle,
Hauling the reins, and started off at a canter.
Riding astride in your heavy McClellan saddle,
...

Scurvy doctrine, that the world is a bubble—
It is much more solid than that!
A monument built out of rubble,
If you will—a high silk hat
...

I'm as full of wisdom as a tree of leaves,
But the South WInd flows, blows and grieves,
Quivers every leaf with bewildering desire
Till a pallor of blossom ripples forth like fire,
...

I flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying.
I said, "Wait on, wait on, while I ride below!
   I shall start a heron soon
   In the marsh beneath the moon --
...

Yon lie the fields all golden with grain,
(Oh, come, ye Harvesters, reap!)
The dead leaves are falling with autumn's brown stain.
(Oh, come, ye Harvesters, reap!)
For soon sinks the sun to his bed in the west,
...

In the red country
The sky flowers
All day.
Strange mechanical birds
...