Industrialism
by Sherwood Anderson (1876-1941)

In the long house of hate,
In the long hours,
In the never-ending day;
Over the fields—her black hair flying—
My mistress
Terrible
Gigantic
Gaunt and drear.

I ve got to die you ve got to die.
We do not fancy your thin hands,
That reach and reach into the vase
Where old things rust.
Death to you—
Now.
Thin dream of beauty,
You be gone.

Our fathers in the village streets
Had flowing beards and they believed.
I saw them run into the night—
Crushed.
Old knowledge and all old beliefs
By your hand killed
My mistress
Grim.

Awake and shake thy dusty locks.
Come, drive the soldiers to their toil.
A million men my mistress needs,
To kiss
And kill
For her desire,
To-night—
Arise.

Out of the vase the long thin hand,
To grip the sword that men forget
My mistress waits beside the mill
To kiss the sword
Of Christ
Or you,
Who dare
For her.

Views: 27

Do You Fear the Force of the Wind
by Hamlin Garland (1860-1940)

Do you fear the force of the wind,
The slash of the rain?
Go face them and fight them,
Be savage again.
Go hungry and cold like the wolf,
Go wade like the crane:
The palms of your hands will thicken,
The skin of your cheek will tan,
You’ll grow ragged and weary and swarthy,
But you’ll walk like a man!

Views: 33

How Do I Love Thee?
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Views: 29

À Cassandre
by Pierre Ronsard (1524-1585)

Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avoit desclose
Sa robe de pourpre au Soleil,
A point perdu ceste vesprée
Les plis de sa robe pourprée.
Et son teint au vostre pareil.

Las! voyez comme en peu d’espace,
Mignonne, elle a dessus la place
Las, las, ses beautez laissé cheoir!
O vrayment marastre Nature,
Puis qu’une telle fleur ne dure
Que du matin jusques au soir!

Donc, si vous me croyez mignonne,
Tandis que vostre âge fleuronne
En sa plus verte nouveauté,
Cueillez, cueillez vostre jeunesse:
Comme à ceste fleur la vieillesse
Fera ternir vostre beauté.

Views: 35

Circe
by H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) (1886-1961)

It was easy enough
to bend them to my wish,
it was easy enough
to alter them with a touch,
but you
adrift on the great sea,
how shall I call you back?

Cedar and white ash,
rock-cedar and sand plants
and tamarisk
red cedar and white cedar
and black cedar from the inmost forest,
fragrance upon fragrance
and all of my sea-magic is for nought.

It was easy enough­
a thought called them
from the sharp edges of the earth;
they prayed for a touch,
they cried for the sight of my face,
they entreated me
till in pity
I turned each to his own self.

Panther and panther,
then a black leopard
follows close­
black panther and red
and a great hound,
a god-like beast,
cut the sand in a clear ring
and shut me from the earth,
and cover the sea-sound
with their throats,
and the sea-roar with their own barks
and bellowing and snarls,
and the sea-stars
and the swirl of the sand,
and the rock-tamarisk
and the wind resonance­
but not your voice.

It is easy enough to call men
from the edges of the earth.
It is easy enough to summon them to my feet
with a thought­
it is beautiful to see the tall panther
and the sleek deer-hounds
circle in the dark.
It is easy enough
to make cedar and white ash fumes
into palaces
and to cover the sea-caves
with ivory and onyx.

But I would give up
rock-fringes of coral
and the inmost chamber
of my island palace
and my own gifts
and the whole region
of my power and magic
for your glance.

Views: 29

Hypnos, The God of Sleep
by Adelaide Crapsey (1878-1914)

The shadowy boy of night
   Crosses the dusking land;
He sows his poppy-seeds
   With steady gentle hand.

The shadowy boy of night,
   Young husbandman of dreams,
Garners his gracious blooms
   By far and moonlit streams.

Views: 31

Septembermorgen
by Eduard Mörike (1804-1875)

Im Nebel ruhet noch die Welt,
Noch träument Wald und Wiesen;
Bald siehst du, wenn der Schleier fällt,
Den blauen Himmel unverstellt,
Herbstkräftig die gedämpfte Welt
Im warmem Golde fließen.

Views: 27

The Tortoise in Eternity
by Elinor Wylie (1885-1928)

Within my house of patterned horn
I sleep in such a bed
As men may keep before they’re born
And after when they’re dead.

Sticks and stones may break their bones,
And words may make them bleed;
There is not one of them who owns
An armour to his need.

Tougher than hide or lozenged bark,
Snow-storm and thunder proof,
And quick with sun, and thick with dark,
Is this my darling roof.

Men’s troubled dreams of death and birth
Pulse mother-o’-pearl to black;
I bear the rainbow bubble Earth
Square on my scornful back.

Views: 22