Emotions and Feelings

I, Being Born a Woman and Distressed

I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn wtih pity, -- let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.

I, Being Born a Woman and Distressed

I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn wtih pity, -- let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.

I Know The Face Of Falsehood And Her Tongue

I know the face of Falsehood and her Tongue
Honeyed with unction, Plausible with guile,
Are dear to men, whom count me not among,
That owe their daily credit to her smile;
Such have been succoured out of great distress
By her contriving, if accounts be true:
Their deference now above the board, I guess,
Dishcharges what beneath the board is due.
As for myself, I'd liefer lack her aid
Than eat her presence; let this building fall:
But let me never lift my latch, afraid
To hear her simpering accents in the hall,
Nor force an entrance past mephitic airs
Of stale patchoulie hanging on my stairs.

Humoresque

"Heaven bless the babe!" they said.
"What queer books she must have read!"
(Love, by whom I was beguiled,
Grant I may not bear a child.)
"Little does she guess to-day
What the world may be!" they say.
(Snow, drift deep and cover
Till the spring my murdered lover.)

I Dreamed I Moved Among The Elysian Fields

I dreamed I moved among the Elysian fields,
In converse with sweet women long since dead;
And out of blossoms which that meadow yields
I wove a garland for your living head.
Danai, that was the vessel for a day
Of golden Jove, I saw, and at her side,
Whom Jove the Bull desired and bore away,
Europa stood, and the Swan's featherless bride.
All these were mortal women, yet all these
Above the ground had had a god for guest;
Freely I walked beside them and at ease,
Addressing them, by them again addressed,
And marvelled nothing, for remembering you,
Wherefore I was among them well I knew.

Fontaine, Je Ne Boirai Pas De Ton Eau!

I know I might have lived in such a way

As to have suffered only pain:

Loving not man nor dog;

Not money, even; feeling

Toothache perhaps, but never more than an hour away

From skill and novocaine;

Making no contacts, dealing with life through Agents, drinking
one cocktail, betting two dollars, wearing raincoats in the
rain.

Betrayed at length by no one but the fog

Whispering to the wing of the plane.

"Fountain," I have cried to that unbubbling well, "I will not
drink of thy water!" Yet I thirst

For a mouthful of—not to swallow, only to rinse my mouth in
—peace.

And while the eyes of the past condemn,

The eyes of the present narrow into assignation. And—
worst—

The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed;
I shall get no help from them.

Fontaine, Je Ne Boirai Pas De Ton Eau!

I know I might have lived in such a way

As to have suffered only pain:

Loving not man nor dog;

Not money, even; feeling

Toothache perhaps, but never more than an hour away

From skill and novocaine;

Making no contacts, dealing with life through Agents, drinking
one cocktail, betting two dollars, wearing raincoats in the
rain.

Betrayed at length by no one but the fog

Whispering to the wing of the plane.

"Fountain," I have cried to that unbubbling well, "I will not
drink of thy water!" Yet I thirst

For a mouthful of—not to swallow, only to rinse my mouth in
—peace.

And while the eyes of the past condemn,

The eyes of the present narrow into assignation. And—
worst—

The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed;
I shall get no help from them.

Feast


I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.


I gnawed at every root.
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.


Feed the grape and bean
To the vintner and monger:
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.

Feast


I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.


I gnawed at every root.
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.


Feed the grape and bean
To the vintner and monger:
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.

Elegy Before Death

There will be rose and rhododendron
When you are dead and under ground;
Still will be heard from white syringas
Heavy with bees, a sunny sound;


Still will the tamaracks be raining
After the rain has ceased, and still
Will there be robins in the stubble,
Brown sheep upon the warm green hill.


Spring will not ail nor autumn falter;
Nothing will know that you are gone,
Saving alone some sullen plough-land
None but yourself sets foot upon;


Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed
Nothing will know that you are dead,—
These, and perhaps a useless wagon
Standing beside some tumbled shed.


Oh, there will pass with your great passing
Little of beauty not your own,—
Only the light from common water,
Only the grace from simple stone!

Conscientious Objector

I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.


Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.


I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.

Bluebeard


This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain

For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see... Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.


Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.

Assault


I

I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
I should not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.

II

I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
That am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!

Being Young And Green

Being Young and Green, I said in love's despite:
Never in the world will I to living wight
Give over, air my mind
To anyone,
Hang out its ancient secrets in the strong wind
To be shredded and faded—


Oh, me, invaded
And sacked by the wind and the sun!

Alms


My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go;
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.


I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again;
But it is winter with your love,
The frost is thick upon the pane..


I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.


I water them and turn them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem;
But it is winter with your love,
I only tend and water them.


There was a time I stood and watched
The small, ill-natured sparrows' fray;
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,


I stood and watched him out of sight:
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step;
My heart is what it was before,


But it is winter with your love;
I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
And close the window, —and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.

Alms


My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go;
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.


I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again;
But it is winter with your love,
The frost is thick upon the pane..


I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.


I water them and turn them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem;
But it is winter with your love,
I only tend and water them.


There was a time I stood and watched
The small, ill-natured sparrows' fray;
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,


I stood and watched him out of sight:
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step;
My heart is what it was before,


But it is winter with your love;
I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
And close the window, —and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.

Alms


My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go;
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.


I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again;
But it is winter with your love,
The frost is thick upon the pane..


I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.


I water them and turn them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem;
But it is winter with your love,
I only tend and water them.


There was a time I stood and watched
The small, ill-natured sparrows' fray;
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,


I stood and watched him out of sight:
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step;
My heart is what it was before,


But it is winter with your love;
I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
And close the window, —and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.

Alms


My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go;
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.


I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again;
But it is winter with your love,
The frost is thick upon the pane..


I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.


I water them and turn them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem;
But it is winter with your love,
I only tend and water them.


There was a time I stood and watched
The small, ill-natured sparrows' fray;
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,


I stood and watched him out of sight:
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step;
My heart is what it was before,


But it is winter with your love;
I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
And close the window, —and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.

A Visit To The Asylum

Once from a big, big building,
When I was small, small,
The queer folk in the windows
Would smile at me and call.


And in the hard wee gardens
Such pleasant men would hoe:
"Sir, may we touch the little girl's hair!"—
It was so red, you know.


They cut me coloured asters
With shears so sharp and neat,
They brought me grapes and plums and pears
And pretty cakes to eat.


And out of all the windows,
No matter where we went,
The merriest eyes would follow me
And make me compliment.


There were a thousand windows,
All latticed up and down.
And up to all the windows,
When we went back to town,


The queer folk put their faces,
As gentle as could be;
"Come again, little girl!" they called, and I
Called back, "You come see me!"

To Marie Louise (Shew)

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,
For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-
Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
At thy soft-murmured words, 'Let there be light!'
At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-
Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitude
Nearest resembles worship- oh, remember
The truest- the most fervently devoted,
And think that these weak lines are written by him-
By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
His spirit is communing with an angel's.

To M--

O! I care not that my earthly lot
Hath little of Earth in it,
That years of love have been forgot
In the fever of a minute:

I heed not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you meddle with my fate
Who am a passer by.

It is not that my founts of bliss
Are gushing- strange! with tearsOr
that the thrill of a single kiss
Hath palsied many years


'Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs
Which have wither'd as they rose
Lie dead on my heart-strings
With the weight of an age of snows.

Not that the grass- O! may it thrive!
On my grave is growing or grownBut
that, while I am dead yet alive
I cannot be, lady, alone.

To Helen - 1848

I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,
Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,
There fell a silvery-silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber,
Upon the upturned faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe-
Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses
That gave out, in return for the love-light,
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death-
Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses
That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted
By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence.
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
I saw thee half reclining; while the moon
Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn'd- alas, in sorrow!


Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight-
Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow,)
That bade me pause before that garden-gate,
To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses?
No footstep stirred: the hated world an slept,
Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven!- oh, God!
How my heart beats in coupling those two words!)
Save only thee and me. I paused- I looked-
And in an instant all things disappeared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!)


The pearly lustre of the moon went out:
The mossy banks and the meandering paths,
The happy flowers and the repining trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses' odors
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All- all expired save thee- save less than thou:
Save only the divine light in thine eyes-
Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes.
I saw but them- they were the world to me!
I saw but them- saw only them for hours,
Saw only them until the moon went down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to he enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe, yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How daring an ambition; yet how deep-
How fathomless a capacity for love!


But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,
Into a western couch of thunder-cloud;



And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees
Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained;
They would not go- they never yet have gone;
Lighting my lonely pathway home that night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since;
They follow me- they lead me through the years.
They are my ministers- yet I their slave.
Their office is to illumine and enkindle-
My duty, to be saved by their bright light,
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope),
And are far up in Heaven- the stars I kneel to
In the sad, silent watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still- two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sereThe
leaves they were withering and sere;

It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of WeirIt
was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my SoulOf
cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.


There were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that rollAs
the lavas that restlessly roll

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the poleThat
groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sereOur
memories were treacherous and sere


For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year(
Ah, night of all nights in the year!)

We noted not the dim lake of Auber(
Though once we had journeyed down here),
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent,
And star-dials pointed to mornAs
the star-dials hinted of morn


At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent


Arose with a duplicate hornAstarte's
bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.


And I said- 'She is warmer than Dian:
She rolls through an ether of sighsShe
revels in a region of sighs:


She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,

And has come past the stars of the Lion,
To point us the path to the skiesTo
the Lethean peace of the skies


Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes



Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes.'


But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said- 'Sadly this star I mistrustHer
pallor I strangely mistrust:


Oh, hasten!- oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly!- let us fly!- for we must.'
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust


In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dustTill
they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.


I replied- 'This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!


Its Sybilic splendor is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty to-night:See!-
it flickers up the sky through the night!

Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright


We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.'

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloomAnd
conquered her scruples and gloom;


And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tombBy
the door of a legended tomb;

And I said- 'What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?'
She replied- 'Ulalume- Ulalume'
Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!'


Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sereAs
the leaves that were withering and sere


And I cried- 'It was surely October
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed- I journeyed down hereThat
I brought a dread burden down hereOn
this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?

Well I know, now, this dim lake of AuberThis
misty mid region of WeirWell
I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.'

To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sereThe
leaves they were withering and sere;

It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of WeirIt
was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my SoulOf
cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.


There were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that rollAs
the lavas that restlessly roll

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the poleThat
groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sereOur
memories were treacherous and sere


For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year(
Ah, night of all nights in the year!)

We noted not the dim lake of Auber(
Though once we had journeyed down here),
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent,
And star-dials pointed to mornAs
the star-dials hinted of morn


At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent


Arose with a duplicate hornAstarte's
bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.


And I said- 'She is warmer than Dian:
She rolls through an ether of sighsShe
revels in a region of sighs:


She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,

And has come past the stars of the Lion,
To point us the path to the skiesTo
the Lethean peace of the skies


Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes



Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes.'


But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said- 'Sadly this star I mistrustHer
pallor I strangely mistrust:


Oh, hasten!- oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly!- let us fly!- for we must.'
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust


In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dustTill
they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.


I replied- 'This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!


Its Sybilic splendor is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty to-night:See!-
it flickers up the sky through the night!

Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright


We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.'

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloomAnd
conquered her scruples and gloom;


And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tombBy
the door of a legended tomb;

And I said- 'What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?'
She replied- 'Ulalume- Ulalume'
Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!'


Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sereAs
the leaves that were withering and sere


And I cried- 'It was surely October
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed- I journeyed down hereThat
I brought a dread burden down hereOn
this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?

Well I know, now, this dim lake of AuberThis
misty mid region of WeirWell
I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.'