Patience Worth Poems

No thing engraces the day like gentleness.
I may see gaudy noons and flaming mornings
And gorgeous eves, but none of these
Appeal like some wood-thatched bower where
A lone bird mourned, or perhaps a hedge
Whence some song burst, or still sunlight Scratched by blossoms.
...

To game is to live.
When thee ceasest to game, then youth is gone.
'Tis the heritage of youth, left to age only as a memory.
Youth leaps with joy
...

Heart of mine, bruised as a bird
In a wicker, beating that it free!
Heart of mine! Heart of mine!
I would soothe thee. I would sing such lays,
...

Oh ye mighty walls and towering spires astride the cowled gabled ways!
Thy emblazoned scripts depicting fanciful reaction of ancient times;
Smoking altars upon which yellow candles flare, burning the sacred air,
To send aloft a pungent scent of mouldering decay,
...

I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent,
The holy essence of experience.
...

I, thy child forever play
About thy knees this close of day.
Within thy arms I now shall creep,
And learn Thy wisdom while I sleep
...

Behold, with my naked hands did I part my ribs,
Baring my heart in a basin of scarlet.
Into this did I plunge my quill,
Drawing it forth pulsing, each drop warm.
...

There is a busy spider weaving webs,
Hanging my understanding with
Impenetrable mysteries- -
Intricately woven.
...

Dream, dream, thou flesh of me,
Dream thou next my breast.
Dream, dream, and coax the stars
To light thee at thy rest.
...

My heart is a wicket gate; hung at a garden 'twixt me and the dinning day it stands.
Beyond is the teeming roadway and the agony of day's pageantry as it writhes past,
And I am the garden, and my heart the wicket gate.
...