Famous Gleaned Poems by Famous Poets

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Dreams Are Best

 I just think that dreams are best,
 Just to sit and fancy things;
 Give your gold no acid test,
Try not how your silver rings;
Fancy women pure and good,
 Fancy men upright and true:
 Fortressed in your solitude,
Let Life be a dream to you.

For I think that Thought is all;
 Truth's a minion of the mind;
 Love's ideal comes at...Read more of this...

elusive wisdom

 thoth (who became hermes who became mercury)
who was both moon and wisdom to the egyptians
manifested himself mainly as an ibis - a watery bird
a restless creature that could not stop searching
through marshy ground with its sickle-shaped beak

so to the christians the bird became a scavenger
the worst sinner from whom sins sprout forth and grow
sacred ibises have had to learn...Read more of this...

An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Pauls Dr. John

 Can we not force from widow'd poetry, 
Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy 
To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust, 
Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust, 
Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flower 
Of fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour, 
Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay 
Upon thy ashes,...Read more of this...

Jennie MGrew

 Not, where the stairway turns in the dark,
A hooded figure, shriveled under a flowing cloak!
Not yellow eyes in the room at night,
Staring out from a surface of cobweb gray!
And not the flap of a condor wing,
When the roar of life in your ears begins
As a sound heard never before!
But on a sunny afternoon,
By a country road,
Where purple rag-weeds bloom...Read more of this...

Music In The Bush

 O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon,
 And in the west, all tremulous, a star;
And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune
 Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar.

Quite listless, for her daily stent is done,
 She stands, sad exile, at her rose-wreathed door,
And sends her love eternal with the sun
 That goes to gild the land...Read more of this...

September

 Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days 
Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways, 
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, 
Some crimson poppy of a late delight 
Atoning in its splendor for the flight 
Of summer blooms and joys­
This is September....Read more of this...

Song of Man XXV

 I was here from the moment of the 
Beginning, and here I am still. And 
I shall remain here until the end 
Of the world, for there is no 
Ending to my grief-stricken being. 


I roamed the infinite sky, and 
Soared in the ideal world, and 
Floated through the firmament. But 
Here I am, prisoner of measurement. 


I heard...Read more of this...

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