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Best Famous Laura Riding Jackson Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Laura Riding Jackson poems. This is a select list of the best famous Laura Riding Jackson poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Laura Riding Jackson poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Laura Riding Jackson poems.

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by Laura Riding Jackson | |

The World And I

 This is not exactly what I mean
Any more than the sun is the sun.
But how to mean more closely If the sun shines but approximately? What a world of awkwardness! What hostile implements of sense! Perhaps this is as close a meaning As perhaps becomes such knowing.
Else I think the world and I Must live together as strangers and die— A sour love, each doubtful whether Was ever a thing to love the other.
No, better for both to be nearly sure Each of each—exactly where Exactly I and exactly the world Fail to meet by a moment, and a word.


by Laura Riding Jackson | |

Yes And No

 Across a continent imaginary
Because it cannot be discovered now
Upon this fully apprehended planet—
No more applicants considered,
Alas, alas—

Ran an animal unzoological,
Without a fate, without a fact,
Its private history intact
Against the travesty
Of an anatomy.
Not visible not invisible, Removed by dayless night, Did it ever fly its ground Out of fancy into light, Into space to replace Its unwritable decease? Ah, the minutes twinkle in and out And in and out come and go One by one, none by none, What we know, what we don't know.


by Laura Riding Jackson | |

In Due Form

 I do not doubt you.
I know you love me.
It is a fact of your indoor face, A true fancy of your muscularity.
Your step is confident.
Your look is thorough.
Your stay-beside-me is a pillow To roll over on And sleep as on my own upon.
But make me a statement In due form on endless foolscap Witnessed before a notary And sent by post, registered, To be signed for on receipt And opened under oath to believe; An antique paper missing from my strong-box, A bond to clutch when hail tortures the chimney And lightning circles redder round the city, And your brisk step and thorough look Are gallant but uncircumstantial, And not mentionable in a doom-book.


by Laura Riding Jackson | |

The Poets Corner

 Here where the end of bone is no end of song
And the earth is bedecked with immortality
In what was poetry
And now is pride beside
And nationality,
Here is a battle with no bravery
But if the coward's tongue has gone
Swording his own lusty lung.
Listen if there is victory Written into a library Waving the books in banners Soldierly at last, for the lines Go marching on, delivered of the soul.
And happily may they rest beyond Suspicion now, the incomprehensibles Traitorous in such talking As chattered over their countries' boundaries.
The graves are gardened and the whispering Stops at the hedges, there is singing Of it in the ranks, there is a hush Where the ground has limits And the rest is loveliness.
And loveliness? Death has an understanding of it Loyal to many flags And is a silent ally of any country Beset in its mortal heart With immortal poetry.


by Laura Riding Jackson | |

With The Face

 With the face goes a mirror
As with the mind a world.
Likeness tells the doubting eye That strangeness is not strange.
At an early hour and knowledge Identity not yet familiar Looks back upon itself from later, And seems itself.
To-day seems now.
With reality-to-be goes time.
With the mind goes a world.
Wit the heart goes a weather.
With the face goes a mirror As with the body a fear.
Young self goes staring to the wall Where dumb futurity speaks calm, And between then and then Forebeing grows of age.
The mirror mixes with the eye.
Soon will it be the very eye.
Soon will the eye that was The very mirror be.
Death, the final image, will shine Transparently not otherwise Than as the dark sun described With such faint brightnesses.