Seasons

 SeasonsBlood of the world, time stanchless flows;
The wound is mortal and is mine.
I act, but not to my design,
Choose, but 'twas ever fate that chose,
Would flee, but there are doors that close.
Winter has set its muddy sign
Without me and within. The rose
Dies also in my heart and no stars shine.But nightingales call back the sun;
The doors are down and I can run,
Can laugh, for destiny is dead.
All springs are hoarded in the flowers;
Quick flow the intoxicating hours,
For wine as well as blood is red.

Sheep

  SheepSeeing a country churchyard, when the grey
Monuments walked, I with a second glance,
Doubting, postponed the apparent judgement day
To watch instead the random slow advance
Across the down of a hundred nibbling sheep.
And yet these tombs, half fnacied and half seen
In the dim world between waking and sleep,
These headstones browsing on their plot of green,
Were sheep indeed and emblems of life.
For man to dust, dust turns to grass. The butcher's knife
Works magic, and the ephermeral sheep forms pass
Through swift tombs and through silent tombs, until
One more God's acre feeds across the hill.

Storm At Night

Storm At NightOh, how aquarium-still, how brooding-warm
This paradise! How peacefully in the womb
Of war itself, and at the heart of storm
How safely - safely a captive, in a tomb -
I lie and, listening to the wild assault,
The pause and once-more fury of the gale,
Feel through the crack of my sepulchral vault
The fine-drawn probe of air, and watch the pale
Unearthly lightenings leap across the sky
Like sudden sperm and die and leap again.
The thunder calls and every spasm of fire
Beckons, a signal, to that old desire
In calm for tempest and at ease for pain.
Dreaming of strength and courage, here I lie.

Summer Stillness

Summer StillnessThe stars are golden instants in the deep
Flawless expanse of night: the moon is set:
The river sleeps, entranced, a smooth cool sleep
Seeming so motionless that I forget
The hollow booming bridges, where it slides,
Dark with the sad looks that it bears along,
Towards a sea whose unreturning tides
Ravish the sighted ships and the sailors' song.

Sympathy

SympathyThe irony of being two…!
Grey eyes, wide open suddenly,
Regard me and enquire; I see a face
Grave and unquiet in tenderness.
Heart-rending question of women - never answered:
"Tell me, tell me, what are you thinking of?"
Oh, the pain and foolishness of love!
What can I do but make my old grimace,
Ending it with a kiss, as I always do?