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Green
The dawn was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.
She opened her eyes, and green
They shone, clear like flowers undone
For the first time, now for the first time seen.
Poems on the topic: awakening
Poems on the topic “awakening” on Poets.by.
To a Mocking-Bird
I was asleep, dreaming that I could see
The north hills bowed and burdened with the snow,
And the grey-bearded river old and slow,
And the sick silences on vine and tree —
When in upon my loneliness and me
Light rushed, and sweetness tumbled down as though
Windows had opened for white hands to throw
Roses and roses from a balcony.
Oh Bird, imperious for happiness,
For moments gold as arrows in the air,
I am the only dark in all daybreak!
Let loose your avalanche of loveliness
Over my heart, until I am aware
How long I sleep — and sing me wide awake !
Two Women Sing
FIRST WOMAN
Oh woman--woman--woman,--
Shall I to woman be a friend?
I deal with man, and when I can
Reclaim with interest all I lend.
Who but a witless gambler plays
For farthing stakes these golden days?
No, woman--woman--woman--
Must only play the game that pays.
SECOND WOMAN
Oh woman--woman--woman,--
To-morrow woman shall awake.
She shall arise, and realise
The goodly value of her stake.
And she shall lend her loan, and claim
Her rightful interest on the same.
The Awakening River
The gulls are mad-in-love with the river,
And the river unveils her face and smiles.
In her sleep-brooding eyes they mirror their shining wings.
She lies on silver pillows: the sun leans over her.
He warms and warms her, he kisses and kisses her.
There are sparks in her hair and she stirs in laughter.
Be careful, my beautiful waking one! you will catch on fire.
Wheeling and flying with the foam of the sea on their breasts,
The ineffable mists of the sea clinging to their wild wings,
Crying the rapture of the boundless ocean,
The gulls are mad-in-love with the river.
Wake! we are the dream thoughts flying from your heart.
Wake! we are the songs of desire flowing from your bosom.
As Parsifal of Old
As PARSIFAL of old stood in the hall,
And saw with silent awe and wondering
The Holy Grail uncovered by the king —
Hearing within himself the still voice call;
So I, but newly wakened, rapt by all
The sweet enchantments that around me spring-
Beholding daily in each living thing
Love's miracle — am held in Beauty's thrall.
As Parsifal of old a knight became
And gave his powers to a holy quest —
All baser part consumed as by a flame —
So I am fain, at Love's divine behest,
To yield both heart and spirit to the claim
That life makes visible and manifest.
Calling Dreams
The right to make my dreams come true
I ask, nay, I demand of life,
Nor shall fate's deadly contraband
Impede my steps, nor countermand.
Too long my heart against the ground
Has beat the dusty years around,
And now, at length, I rise, I wake!
And stride into the morning-break !
Resolution
With but one life full certified,
And that of every gleam denied
My portion,
Close to the unrelenting sod.
E'en as my fathers dumbly trod,
I've slumbered;
But now a surging, wild unrest
Uproots the poppies from my breast,
My soul awake, erect! anew!
I stand and face the star-swept blue,
And swear to make my dreams come true!
For Arvia
You Eyes, you large and all-inquiring Eyes,
That look so dubiously into me,
And are not satisfied with what you see,
Tell me the worst and let us have no lies:
Tell me the secret of your scrutinies,
And of myself. Am I a Mystery?
Am I a Boojum--or just Company?
What do you say? What do you think, You Eyes?
You say not; but you think, beyond a doubt;
And you have the whole world to think about,
With very little time for little things.
So let it be; and let it all be fair--
For you, and for the rest who cannot share
Your gold of unrevealed awakenings.
The Awakening
With green-stained bark,
Rising like a tower of the sea,
From the smooth park.
He is a giant among trees,
And he has watched this house for centuries.
His bark is hard as rock,
Time and Sun and the Wind's shock
Have twisted his boughs till they are like the arms of a great carven figure of Care,
Flung in passionate appeal to the changing humour of the Air.
Now on high branches sticky buds appear.
Promise of growth and beauty for the year. —
It seems my life is an old tree.
And the young buds are your sweet love for me.
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