Poetry, Volume 8 (Google eBook)

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Modern Poetry Association, 1916 - American poetry
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Page 92 - Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities...
Page 314 - ... Festoon you with may. Time, you old gipsy, Why hasten away? Last week in Babylon, Last night in Rome, Morning, and in the crush Under Paul's dome; Under Paul's dial You tighten your rein Only a moment, And off once again ; Off to some city Now blind in the womb, Off to another Ere that's in the tomb. Time, you old gipsy man, Will you not stay, Put up your caravan Just for one day?
Page 294 - He laughed like an irresponsible foetus. His laughter was submarine and profound Like the old man of the sea's Hidden under coral islands Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence, Dropping from fingers of surf.
Page 277 - ... patron of thieves, Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop, With the little bright boxes piled up neatly upon the shelves And the loose fragrant cavendish and the shag, And the bright Virginia loose under the bright glass cases, And a pair of scales not too greasy, And the whores dropping in for a word or two in passing, For a flip word, and to tidy their hair a bit. O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves, Lend me a little tobacco-shop, or install me in any profession...
Page 315 - The Example Here's an example from A Butterfly; That on a rough, hard rock Happy can lie; Friendless and all alone On this unsweetened stone. Now let my bed be hard, No care take I; I'll make my joy like this Small Butterfly; Whose happy heart has power To make a stone a flower.
Page 38 - And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears. But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.
Page 47 - Where was he going, this man against the sky! You know not, nor do I. But this we know, if we know anything: That we may laugh and fight and sing And of our transience here make offering To an orient Word that will not be erased, Or, save in incommunicable gleams Too permanent for dreams, Be found or known.
Page 292 - CONVERSATION GALANTE I observe: "Our sentimental friend, the moon! Or possibly (fantastic, I confess) It may be Prester John's balloon Or an old battered lantern hung aloft To light poor travellers to their distress.
Page 20 - ... wings, those wings! So white that my eyes were blinded, thick-feathered and wide unfurled, They beat the air into billows. We sailed, and the earth was gone. Canyon and desert and mesa withered below, with the world. And then I knew that mustang; for I was Bellerophon! Yes, glad as the Greek, and mounted on a horse of the elder gods, With never a magic bridle or a fountain-mirror nigh! My chaps and spurs and holster must have looked it?
Page 114 - Played for Old John Brown. I heard the ram's horn blow, Blow for Old John Brown. I saw the Bulls of Bashan They cheered for Old John Brown. I saw the big Behemoth He cheered for Old John Brown. I saw the big Leviathan He cheered for Old John Brown.

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