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Love-songs, at Once Tender and Informative XXI
In your anger be not just,
Lest your anger turn to dust;
Anger will make easy yet
The bitter footfalls of regret.
Poems on the topic: footstep
Poems on the topic “footstep” on Poets.by.
The Room Upstairs
Room just above me
Over my own,
I have not seen you,
I have not known
Where your big bed stands,
Where is your chair,
Whether your windows
Look here or look there.
Room just above me.
Long have I kept
Vigil below you
While others slept,
Thinking of footsteps
Known to your floor.
Which passed from your threshold
To come there no more.
Company
A footstep sounded from the street .
Listening, I knew of you!
With the good singing of your feet
You came in, too.
Companioned by the sun and rain.
Mingling with the winds at will.
You passed, but in your step's refrain
I have you still.
Passers-by
You — and you. Passer-by — and you;
You, languid feet, and you, wild to climb,
Seeking your respite or star-rimmed view.
Where do you go down the streets of Time?
Never the same, yet ever the same —
You and you, hurrying, slow.
Crowding the way with your motley claim
Of life, always you come and go.
You, stung with purpose. You, driven by
Blindly before Creation's sweep.
Are there ways for the searchers of stars on high?
And other ways for the seekers of sleep?
Or only one way for all to run? ...
Only one sound drifts up to me,
The blend of every tread in one.
Impersonal as the beat of the sea.
Stairways
Why do I think of stairways
With a rush of hurt surprise?
Wistful as forgotten love
In remembered eyes;
And fitful as the flutter
Of little draughts of air
That linger on a stairway
As though they loved it there.
New and shining stairways,
Stairways worn and old,
Where rooms are prison places
And corridors are cold.
You intrigue with fancy.
You challenge with a lore
Elusive as a moon's light
Shadowing a floor.
Silence
Silence is the sound of footsteps
Hushed upon a stair,
The fluttering of ruffled garments,
A song's forgotten air —
All the old, forbidden echoes
That quenched their fevers there.
Footsteps
Passing ever, early, late,
No fond footsteps seek my gate,
But down the winding road they wend
To some other journey’s end.
Yet,—I would not have them wait
Here within my guarded gate,
Certain footsteps I shall know,
And for them I listen low!
Poet in the Basement
Only to tell your loveliness — this love :
Only to tell
Pain's odor, beauty-burning miracle
Of my surrender !
Late I flew . . .
But ever arrow-straight
I fly now from the shade that falls — that fell
Lightly on you,
On me with a wave's weight.
Oh, I must go : this city has a spell
I never gave it leave to have. Still, still to tell
The weaving of your footsteps on the stairs
With my slow-dropping love for you that wears
Cold stone I want my heart for — still I stay.
Put out the stars. Give me another day
Only to tell.
Doors
Listen!
Footsteps
Are they,
That falter through the gloom,
That echo through the lonely chambers
Of our house of life?
Listen!
Did a door close?
Did a whisper waken?
Did a ghostly something
Sigh across the dusk?
From the mournful silence
Something, something went!
Far down some shadowy passage
Faintly closed a door--
And O how empty lies
From a Window
Your footfalls on the drum bridge beside my house
Are like the pattering drops of a passing shower.
So soon are they gone.
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