Self-Portrait In A Convex Mirror

As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as though to protect What it advertises. A few leaded panes, old beams, Fur, pleated muslin, a coral ring run together In a movement supporting the face, which swims Toward and away like the hand Except that it is in repose. It is what is Sequestered. Vasari says, "Francesco one day set himself To take his own portrait, looking at himself from that purpose

The Graveyard By The Sea

This quiet roof, where dove-sails saunter by, Between the pines, the tombs, throbs visibly. Impartial noon patterns the sea in flame -- That sea forever starting and re-starting. When thought has had its hour, oh how rewarding Are the long vistas of celestial calm! What grace of light, what pure toil goes to form The manifold diamond of the elusive foam! What peace I feel begotten at that source! When sunlight rests upon a profound sea,

[four Sonnets (1922)]

I1. Love, though for this you riddle me with darts, . And drag me at your chariot till I die, -- . Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts! -- . Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie . Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,

I Shall Be Loved As Quiet Things

I shall be loved as quiet things Are loved--white pigeons in the sun, Curled yellow leaves that whisper down One after one; The silver reticence of smoke That tells no secret of its birth Among the fiery agonies That turn the earth;

Turns

I thought it made me look more 'working class' (as if a bit of chequered cloth could bridge that gap!) I did a turn in it before the glass. My mother said: It suits you, your dad's cap. (She preferred me to wear suits and part my hair: You're every bit as good as that lot are!) All the pension queue came out to stare. Dad was sprawled beside the postbox (still VR) , his cap turned inside up beside his head,

Merlin And Vivien

A storm was coming, but the winds were still, And in the wild woods of Broceliande, Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old It looked a tower of ivied masonwork, At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay. For he that always bare in bitter grudge The slights of Arthur and his Table, Mark The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice, A minstrel of Caerlon by strong storm

Avon's Harvest

Fear, like a living fire that only death Might one day cool, had now in Avon’s eyes Been witness for so long of an invasion That made of a gay friend whom we had known Almost a memory, wore no other name As yet for us than fear. Another man Than Avon might have given to us at least A futile opportunity for words We might regret. But Avon, since it happened, Fed with his unrevealing reticence

Geraint And Enid

O purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves, By taking true for false, or false for true; Here, through the feeble twilight of this world Groping, how many, until we pass and reach That other, where we see as we are seen! So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth That morning, when they both had got to horse,

Shine, Republic

The quality of these trees, green height; of the sky, shining, of water, a clear flow; of the rock, hardness And reticence: each is noble in its quality. The love of freedom has been the quality of Western man. There is a stubborn torch that flames from Marathon to Concord, its dangerous beauty binding three ages Into one time; the waves of barbarism and civilization have eclipsed but have never quenched it.

Captain Craig

I I doubt if ten men in all Tilbury Town Had ever shaken hands with Captain Craig, Or called him by his name, or looked at him So curiously, or so concernedly, As they had looked at ashes; but a few— Say five or six of us—had found somehow The spark in him, and we had fanned it there, Choked under, like a jest in Holy Writ,

At Dusk

AT DUSK, like flowers that shun the day, Shy thoughts from dim recesses break, And plead for words I dare not say For your sweet sake. My early love! my first, my last! Mistakes have been that both must rue; But all the passion of the past Survives for you.

The Tree In Pamela's Garden

Pamela was too gentle to deceive Her roses. “Let the men stay where they are,” She said, “and if Apollo’s avatar Be one of them, I shall not have to grieve.” And so she made all Tilbury Town believe She sighed a little more for the North Star Than over men, and only in so far As she was in a garden was like Eve. Her neighbors—doing all that neighbors can

The Wandering Jew

I saw by looking in his eyes That they remembered everything; And this was how I came to know That he was here, still wandering. For though the figure and the scene Were never to be reconciled, I knew the man as I had known His image when I was a child. With evidence at every turn,

First Snow

Outside the snowstorm spins, and hides The world beneath a pall. Snowed under are the paper-girl, The papers and the stall. Quite often our experience Has led us to believe That snow falls out of reticence, In order to deceive.

# The Cactus (Resurrection!)

This body like a rose Been a cosset of spring Then a beautiful thing, But the winter left me rot, Summer withered me thin An image the seasons wrought! Heart was a puddle of love Always in full effervescence, Was left flaked and dry

The City Of Dreadful Night

Per me si va nella citta dolente. --Dante Poi di tanto adoprar, di tanti moti D'ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa, Girando senza posa, Per tornar sempre la donde son mosse; Uso alcuno, alcun frutto Indovinar non so.

A Recipe For Joyful Living

Recall all the sweet moments in life Those that you want to re-live again Sure there are a million of them Joyous and sweet, exciting and engaging Let us freeze those moments in time Too precious to go off our heart They make life worth living And give each fresh day a kick start

Beauty Aids in Life.

Smile in lips increases the value of your face. Sympathy in eyes reveals your inner kindness. Sweetness, truthfulness and self control in conversation. Definitely reduce your enemies and mental tension.

A Glance Says All

Glowing as a lamp I saw a lone onlooker, adorned with the flares of sun - one Gloria; Unleashing a blaze of beauty around her, lighted my heart's patio with her wine aura. Thousand arrows pierced through my heart when I looked into the eyes of that shooter; My life ceased to matter for me since then, I'm moved by the finesse of my fair mimer.'

(wind)

I am seen but unheard Reticence is my policy When I walk, there is the rustling of leaves beneath my feet When I run, the howling of a wolf When I sing, the music of golden chimes on porches But these sounds are not mine I am felt in the soul Deep in the bones of wrinkled old men and women who sit silently in rocking chairs They are the ones who know me best I am the spirits of those long departed