It’s autumn in the country I remember. How warm a wind blew here about the ways! And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber During the long sun-sweetened summer-days. It’s cold abroad the country I remember. The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain At midday with a wing aslant and limber; And yellow cattle browsed …
Tuesday Poem – ‘To His Bibliophilic Wife’
for Stewart Had we shelf-space enough, and time, This gluttony, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and read away The afternoons of our love’s long day; You, by the fickle muse’s side Through Poetry stroll; I, in the tide Of Comedians’ Biographies drift. We would Build ourselves an ark of Fantasy, and flood The kitchen-cum-dining …
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Poem – Trumbull Stickney “Sir, say no more”
Sir, say no more. Within me ’tis as if The green and climbing eyesight of a cat Crawled near my mind’s poor birds. – Trumbull Stickney (1874 – 1904) I love good metaphor poems. I remember reading this many years ago, and a garbled version of it has stuck in my head ever since …
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Poem – John Keats, “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer”
Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till …
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Poem – Robert Herrick, “To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time”
To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time Gather ye rose-buds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age …
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A Dark Feathered Art 