Postlude
Now that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished masonry, Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances, Ripples at Philae, in and out, And lips, my Lesbian, Wall flowers that once were flame. Your hair is my Carthage And my arms the bow, And our words arrows To shoot the stars Who from that misty sea Swarm to destroy us. But you there beside me— Oh, how shall I defy you, Who wound me in the night With breasts shining Like Venus and like Mars? The night that is shouting Jason When the loud eaves rattle As with waves above me Blue at the prow of my desire.
William Carlos Williams
Other author posts
January Morning
II have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see them: the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken against a smoky dawn — the heart stirred — are beautiful as Saint Peters approache...
Spring And All
By the road to the contagious hospitalunder the surge of the bluemottled clouds driven from thenortheast — a cold wind Beyond, thewaste of broad, muddy fieldsbrown with dried weeds, standing and fallenpatches of standing waterthe scattering o...
The Desolate Field
Vast and grey, the skyis a simulacrumto all but him whose daysare vast and grey and —In the tall, dried grassesa goat stirswith muzzle searching the ground My head is in the airbut who am I
Dedication For A Plot Of Ground
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presence of Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married; lost her husband and with her five year old son sailed for New York in a two-master; was driven t...