I have a yong suster
Fer beyonden the se,
Many be the drowryes
That she sente me.
She sente me the cherye
Withouten ony ston;
And so she dede the dove
Withouten ony bon.
She sente me the brer
Withouten ony rinde;
She bad me love my lemman
Withoute longing.
How shuld ony cherye
Be withoute ston?
And how shuld ony dove
Be withoute bon?
How shuld ony brer
Been withoute rinde?
How shuld I love myn lemman
Withoute longing?
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’ s song, the ploughboy’ s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
I hear thunder, I hear thunder,
Hark don't you, hark don't you?
Pitter patter raindrops, pitter patter raindrops,
I'm wet through, so are you.
I hear thunder, I hear thunder,
Hark don't you, hark don't you?
Pitter patter raindrops, pitter patter raindrops,
I'm wet through, so are you.
I hear thunder, I hear thunder,
Hark don't you, hark don't you?
Pitter patter raindrops, pitter patter raindrops,
I'm wet through, so are you.
I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -
The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -
I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -
I killed a fly
and laid my weapon next to it
as one lays the weapon of a dead hero
beside his body — the fly
that tried to mount the window
to its top; that was born out of a swamp
to die in a bold effort beyond itself,
and I am the one who brought it to an end.
Tired of the day and with night coming on
I lay my body down beside the fly.
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’ d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
As a child
I put my finger in the fire
to become
a saint.
As a teenager
every day I would knock my head against the wall.
As a young girl
I went out through a window of a garret
to the roof
in order to jump.
As a woman
I had lice all over my body.
They cracked when I was ironing my sweater.
I waited sixty minutes
to be executed.
I was hungry for six years.
As I sd to my
friend, because I am
always talking, — John, I
sd, which was not his
name, the darkness sur-
rounds us, what
can we do against
it, or else, shall we &
why not, buy a goddamn big car,
drive, he sd, for
christ’ s sake, look
out where yr going.
I know an old lady who swallowed a fly
I don't know why she swallowed a fly
Perhaps she'll die.
I know an old lady who swallowed a spider
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly
I don't know why she swallowed the fly
Perhaps she'll die.
I know that He exists.
Somewhere – in silence –
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes.
’ Tis an instant’ s play –
’ Tis a fond Ambush –
Just to make Bliss
Earn her own surprise!
But – should the play
Prove piercing earnest –
Should the glee – glaze –
In Death’ s – stiff – stare –
Would not the fun
Look too expensive!
Would not the jest –
Have crawled too far!
