Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

She was aweary of the hovering
Of Love's incessant tumultuous wing;
Her lover's tokens she would answer not--
'Twere well she should be strange with him somewhat:
A pretty babe, this Love,--but fie on it,
That would not suffer her lay it down a whit!
Appointed tryst defiantly she balked,
And with her lightest comrade lightly walked,
Who scared the chidden Love to hide apart,
And peep from some unnoticed corner of her heart.
She thought not of her lover, deem it not
(There yonder, in the hollow, that's HIS cot),
But she forgot not that he was forgot.
She saw him at his gate, yet stilled her tongue--
So weak she felt her, that she would feel strong,
And she must punish him for doing him wrong:
Passed, unoblivious of oblivion still;
And if she turned upon the brow o' the hill,
It was so openly, so lightly done,
You saw she thought he was not thought upon.
He through the gate went back in bitterness;
She that night woke and stirred, with no distress,
Glad of her doing,--sedulous to be glad,
Lest perhaps her foolish heart suspect that it was sad.
...

Here I am in the garden laughing
an old woman with heavy breasts
and a nicely mapped face

how did this happen
well that's who I wanted to be

at last a woman
in the old style sitting
stout thighs apart under

...

Time she spends without a pause,
Half sleep, half food, a silent cause,
A gentle smile, a fleeting gleam,
She works like an endless stream.


Like a machine with tireless might,
Resting briefly between the night,
Her arms bear the weight alone,
Carrying dreams she's never known.

...

Sun and wind and beat of sea,
Great lands stretching endlessly…
Where be bonds to bind the free?
All the world was made for me!
...

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
...

You may not be able to see me,
but that does not mean I am no longer here.
You may not be able to touch me,
but that does not mean I am gone forever.
The physical world may know me to be dead,
but I am, in truth, very much alive -
more alive, in fact, than I have ever been,
In ways that you do not understand.
You think that I am unaware of how much you miss me,
but know that I miss you even more.

...

My lady, that did change this house of mine
Into a heaven when that she dwelt therein,
From head to foot an angel's grace divine
Enwrapped her; pure she was, spotless of sin;
Fair as the moon her countenance, and wise;
Lords of the kind and tender glance, her eyes
With an abounding loveliness did shine.

Then said my heart: Here will I take my rest!
This city breathes her love in every part.
But to a distant bourne was she addressed,
Alas! he knew it not, alas, poor heart!
The influence of some cold malignant star
Has loosed my hand that held her, lone and far
She joumeyeth that lay upon my breast.

Not only did she lift my bosom's veil,
Reveal its inmost secret, but her grace
Drew back the curtain from Heaven's mansions pale,
And gave her there an eternal dwelling-place.
The flower-strewn river lip and meadows fair,
The rose herself but fleeting treasures were,
Regret and Winter follow in their trail.

Dear were the days which perished with my friend--
Ah, what is left of life, now she is dead,
All wisdomless and profitless I spend!
The nightingale his own life's blood doth shed,
When, to the kisses of the wind, the morn
Unveils the rose's splendour-with his torn

...

Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,

...

Girl in gallery
Removing headphones. Turning
Down her youth's volume

Men in gallery
Re-reading information
Signs. Looking away

Couple in gallery
Making an exhibition

...