Welcome to the Moon
Anonymous Irish poem
Welcome precious stone of the night,
Delight of the skies, precious stone of night,
Mother of stars, precious stone of night,
Excellency of Stars, precious stone of night.
Miniver Cheevy
Edwin Arlington Robinson
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam’s neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
On the Eve of His Execution
Chidiock Tichborne
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen, yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made;
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
The Eternal Three
Tove Ditlevsen
(translated from the Danish by Martin S. Allwood with John Hollander
and Inga Allwood)
There are two men in the world, who
Are crossing my path I see,
And the one is the man I love,
The other’s in love with me.
And one exists in the nightly dreams
Of my somber soul evermore,
The other stands at the door of my heart
But I will not open the door.
And one once gave me a vernal breath
Of happiness squandered — alack!
The other gave me his whole, long life
And got never an hour back.
And one lives hot in the song of my blood
Where love is pure, unbound –
The other is one with the humdrum day
Where all our dreams are drowned.
Between these two every woman stands,
In love, belovéd, and white –
And once every hundred years it happens
That both in one unite.
Tonight At Noon
Adrian Henri
Tonight at noon
Supermarkets will advertise 3d EXTRA on everything
Tonight at noon
Children from happy families will be sent to live in a home
Elephants will tell each other human jokes
America will declare peace on Russia
World War I generals will sell poppies in the streets on November 11th
The first daffodils of autumn will appear
When the leaves fall upwards to the trees
Tonight at noon
Pigeons will hunt cats through city backyards
Hitler will tell us to fight on the beaches and on the landing fields
A tunnel full of water will be built under Liverpool
Pigs will be sighted flying in formation over Woolton
and Nelson will not only get his eye back but his arm as well
White Americans will demonstrate for equal rights in front of the Black House
and the Monster has just created Dr. Frankenstein
Girls in bikinis are moonbathing
Folksongs are being sung by real folk
Artgalleries are closed to people over 21
Poets get their poems in the Top 20
Politicians are elected to insane asylums
There’s jobs for everyone and nobody wants them
In back alleys everywhere teenage lovers are kissing in broad daylight
In forgotten graveyards everywhere the dead will quietly bury the living
and
You will tell me you love me
Tonight at noon
Marriage Acrostic
Eric Chevlen
We met – the traces of Thanksgiving prayer
Incardadined our lips – and stared; and each
Like mirrored mirrors, dared to ask, beseech
“Lord, can this be?” hope mingling with despair;
Yet spoke of mundane things; feigned unaware
Of half-hid adumbrations in our speech,
Unsure in distance moving how to reach
More closeness still. Oh, Laurel, let us share
A life together, let us bear and build,
Rejoice, recline united, you and I.
Repairer of my life, completing soul,
You are my harried hope at last fulfilled.
May God grant us the grace to link and tie
Each other, make our unjoined halves our whole.
Woman
Eaton Stannard Barrett
Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung,
Not she denied Him with unholy tongue;
She, while apostles shrank, could dangers brave,
Last at the cross and earliest at the grave.
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