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arms autumn beauty beneath Berard bird blood blue branches breath calm clear closed cold comes dark dead death delight dream earth emperor Enzio eyes face fall father fear flowers forget girls gold golden gone grass gray green hair half hand happiness hate head hear heard heart hills hold hope king KINGDOM knew laugh leaned learned leaves less lift light live lonely look loveliness moon never night once pain Parma pass passionate past pause peace perhaps Pietro purple rain remember river rose round sail seemed silver sing sleep smile song sound spring stand stars sweet tears tenderness Thaddeus there's things thought throat trees turn voice waiting walk warm watch waters wild winds winter young
Page 19 - COULD I pluck down Aldebaran And haze the Pleiads in your hair I could not add more burning to your beauty Or lend a starrier coldness to your air. If I were cleaving terrible waters With death ahead on the visible sands I could not turn and stretch my hands more wildly, More vainly turn and stretch to you my hands.
Page 140 - Oh, I have heard a golden trumpet blowing Under the night. Another warmth than blood Has coursed, though briefly, through my intricate veins. Some sky is in my breast where swings a hawk Intemperate for immortalities And unpersuaded by the show of death. I am content with that I cannot prove.
Page 9 - The peace of God that filled their hearts Brimful, and broke them too. Young John who trimmed the flapping sail, Homeless, in Patmos died. Peter, who hauled the teeming net, Head-down was crucified. The peace of God, it is no peace, But strife closed in the sod.
Page 5 - Jehovah share a single grave and deep; Olympus hears no laughter, Sinai no voice; Spring comes, but Freia comes not nor Persephone: On temple plinth and porch the random grasses run; Of all their priests alone the white-stoled stars are faithful. Dead are the gods, forever dead! And yet — and yet — Who lifteth in the eastern sky the dark, gold moon? . . . There is a loveliness outlasts the temporal gods, A beauty that, when all we know as beautiful Is gone, will fashion in delight the forms it...
Page 13 - HOW shall you ever know the adoration I spread like samite cloths beneath your feet? How shall you guess the brooding desolation Learned from your eyes so passionless and sweet? There must be some word like the star that pauses In summer's rose transparency of dusk, Or like the bird-note heard through slumber's gauzes Between the hour of dew, the hour of musk; There must be some one word that is more tender Than any word my lips have ever learned Without which I can never, never render In speech...
Page 9 - I LOVE to think of them at dawn Beneath the frail pink sky Casting their nets in Galilee And fish-hawks circling by. Casting their nets in Galilee Just off the hills of brown, Such happy, simple fisherfolk Before the Lord walked down.
Page 4 - Raise their frowning chins and whisper to carh other, There is a scar on the moon ! . . . But I know the name of the mischievous lover Who painted a black rabbit on the moon Because a maid pouted, Thinking the moon whiter than her breasts. Voices, A Journal of Verse Vernon Patterson A CANTICLE Lovely is daytime when the joyful sun goes singing, Lovely is night with stars and round or sickled moon, Lovely are trees, forever lovely, whether in winter Or musical midsummer or when they bud and tassel...
Page 13 - Between the hour of dew, the hour of musk; There must be some one word that is more tender Than any word my lips have ever learned Without which I can never, never render In speech the love your cool sweet love has earned. You know as none my heart's forlorn distresses, Its passionate tides, its daily tint and glow; Why must there be within obscure recesses This tenderness of love you can not know?
Page 7 - Of bloom and scarlet tatterings and feathered ice Will fold the world in loveliness as now. But I shall have but these, and these with glory shorn And half invisible because you went. . . . Then I shall pass. And none because of me Will be less glad of spring or watch with eyes that blur The evening's one bright star. Only, I think, in some remote demesne That you have learned to love regretfully There will be added brightness and a cry Of patient waiting done. COURAGE Into a brown wood flew a brown...
Page 14 - WILL carry terrible things to the grave with me: So much must never be told. My eyes will be ready for sleep and my heart for dust With all the secrets they hold. The piteous things alive in my memory Will be safe in that soundless dwelling: In the clean loam, in the dark where the dumb roots rust I can sleep without fear of telling.