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Rolfe Humphries, love, in English Clear filters

CheerfulRolfe Humphries

Test Paper

What do we praise?—Sunsets, and open fires, America, and mother love, I guess; The merry laughter of a little child, And poems that touch the heart with tenderness. What do we really praise?—Oh, Life and Time, (With capitals), books that Fadiman commends, The chromium bars, the streamlined cars and trains, The music played for music's newest friends. What do we praise beyond all this?—High art, God's majesty and sacraments and grace, The universal music of the spheres, The mysteries of interstellar space. Come down to earth. What is it you and I, My love, deep in our heart of hearts, adore, Cherish, and tend? — Each other. Not so fast. Maybe, a little; but ourselves much more.
ContemplativeRolfe Humphries

The Offering of the Heart

Against a somber background, blue as midnight, More blank and dark than cloud, as black as storm, The almost moving leaves are almost golden, The light is almost warm. Seated, a lady, wearing a cloak with ermine Holds on her hand, correctly gloved and bent, A falcon, without feathered hood or jesses; Her gaze appears intent On what her hound, good little dog, is doing Around her ankles, left front paw in air, Regardless of the three white careless rabbits— He does not see them there, Or turn, as does the falcon, toward the gallant, The gentleman, more elegant than smart, Who comes, in crimson cloak with ermine lining, And offers her a heart,
RomanticRolfe Humphries

A Brecon Version

Whoever Trystan drew blood on, That man surely fell. Whoever drew blood on Trystan, That man also fell. King March sent to King Arthur How to loose that spell. Trystan took Queen Essylt To Celyddon's green wood. Trystan took Queen Essylt In Celyddon's green wood. King March rode to King Arthur, Burning as he rode. King Arthur gave him counsel: "The only thing to do, The only thing for you Is send him many harpers
ContemplativeRolfe Humphries

Air, from the Old Welsh

Like seaweed under water, The uneventful trees Move at my window In the mist of the morning. If I could count the leaves And multiply them by The number of seasons left me, And were every leaf a love, There would still not be enough To have before I die. Ah, what stubborn stuff I waken to find In the cells of the mind On the sills of the morning.
RomanticRolfe Humphries

Llanelly Cottage

A light-capped sea, and a bird-bright shore— Whatever else was I looking for, With sun at my back, blue sky above me? A dark-haired girl by an open door. A dark-haired girl in a scarlet dress, An invitation from loveliness: Will you touch me deep, will you share my sleep, Will you come, or keep me comfortless? The sun at my back, blue sky above, But over that sill who would not move? For the light-capped sea and the bird-bright shore Said never a word against my love. The scarlet dress came over her head, Her skin was as white as her silken bed: Whisper me softly, pleasure me deftly, Leave me not swiftly, she said, she said.
ContemplativeRolfe Humphries

Around Thanksgiving

Pure gold, they said in her praise: So I walk my autumn ways, Around me a golden haze From the ground, in leaves, in air— Oh, everywhere, everywhere!— To save, to spend, and to share. By the door, with evening light, Westering, lingering late Over lane and lawn and lot The leaves of the lilac hold The shape of the heart, pure gold, As if I need to be told, As if I need reminding, Toward chill November's ending, Of warmth and love abounding.
RomanticRolfe Humphries

Cymric Love Song

On the side of a hill In the month of April I was with her In wonderful weather. Do you ask me to tell Of myth or of marvel? No one said No! From height or from hollow. In what other country Would I rather be? Or whose way of moving Should I more sing? I will dwell on her praise For now and for always.

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