Sculpted stone to rend the meal It the mind to bake the wheel Culinary engines whirl and pur No captive to the hungry fur Thence to mine the tynes of night To cast the seeds up to the heights
His scalding words—accost the court In chitin—pitch'd—with dark cavorts Cocottes scattered—cloisters cracked Quenchless gyre—consumption wracked His tower high—over the dead Blossoming fog—past colors fled.
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one: Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done. —Francis William Bourdillon (1852–1921)
From Virtue's blissful paths away The double-tongued are sure to stray; Good is a forth-right journey still, And mazy paths but lead to ill. —by Charles Brockden Brown (1798). Wieland, T. & J. Swords, H. Caritat, New York.
HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because… Continue reading Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven (1899)
Written by Anne Bradstreet¹—the 'Empress Consort of Massachusetts'²—July 10th, 1666 after the burning of her house. Copied from The Columbia Anthology of American Poetry (Columbia University Press, 1995). In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, I wakened was with thund’ring noise And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. That fearful… Continue reading Verses Upon The Burning Of Our House (1666)
A poem by Kaiter Enless.