Poèmes sur le thème : fountain

Poèmes sur le thème « fountain » sur Poets.by.

TristeWinifred Welles

Plaint

I too would run like Nicolette Down aisles of rose and mignonette, And stain my knees with midnight dew Passing the ghostly gardens through, If I should know that loverly Young Aucassin awaited me! And I could leave without regret My warm white bed like Nicolette, And flee from roof and candle-light Into the deepest hour of night, If by the ivy-shadowed wall, I knew that Aucassin would call. But I'll not tremble in the wet. Nor bruise my feet like Nicolette, Only to dream of his embrace, Only to think I see his face.
ContemplatifLouise Bogan

Statue and Birds

Here, in the withered arbor, like the arrested wind, Straight sides, carven knees, Stands the statue, with hands flung out in alarm Or remonstrances. Over the lintel sway the woven bracts of the vine In a pattern of angles. The quill of the fountain falters, woods rake on the sky Their brusque tangles. The birds walk by slowly, circling the marble girl, The golden quails, The pheasants closed up in their arrowy wings. Dragging their sharp tails. The inquietudes of the sap and of the blood are spent. What is forsaken will rest. But her heel is lifted, — she would flee, — the whistle of the birds Fails on her breast.
RomantiqueJohn Gould Fletcher

Irradiations VIII

The fountain blows its breathless spray From me to you and back to me. Whipped, tossed, curdled, Crashing, quivering: I hurl kisses like blows upon your lips. The dance of a bee drunken with sunlight: Irradiant ecstasies, white and gold, Sigh and relapse. The fountain tosses pallid spray Far in the sorrowful, silent sky.
InspiréHazel Hall

Made of Crepe de Chine

A needle running in white crepe de chine Is not the frail servant of utility It was designed to be; It is an arrow of silver sunlight Plunging with a waterfall. And hands moving in white crepe de chine Are not slaves of the precedent That governs them; They are the crouching women of a fountain, Who have sprung from marble into life To bathe ecstatically In the brimming basin.
RêveurDhan Gopal Mukerji

Sound Butterflies (In a Fountain)

Like interpenetrating bells of silver, The water-drops ring and melt Into new drops, like new notes From an untiring lyre, That in colored succession Paint our heart-beats From the gold of sunrise into sunset fire; Yet, not like that, this brush of water-drops Limns on the silver rim of Joy The dark Butterflies of Desire.
En colèreCarl Sandburg

Profiteer

I who saw ten strong young men die anonymously, I who saw ten old mothers hand over their sons to the nation anonymously, I who saw ten thousand touch the sunlit silver finalities of undistinguished human glory — why do I sneeze sardonically at a bronze drinking fountain named after one who participated in the war vicariously and bought ten farms?
ContemplatifAmy Lowell

The Broken Fountain

Oblong, its jutted ends rounding into circles. The old sunken basin lies with its flat, marble lip An inch below the terrace tiles. Over the stagnant water Slide reflections : The blue-green of coned yews ; The purple and red of trailing fuchsias Dripping out of marble urns ; Bright squares of sky Ribbed by the wake of a swimming beetle. Through the blue-bronze water Wavers the pale uncertainty of a shadow. An arm flashes through the reflections, A breast is outlined with leaves. Outstretched in the quiet water The statue of a Goddess slumbers.