Les plus lus ▸
In the Suburbs
There's no way out.
You were born to waste your life.
You were born to this middleclass life
As others before you
Were born to walk in procession
To the temple, singing.
Poèmes sur le thème : sacrifice
Poèmes sur le thème « sacrifice » sur Poets.by.
One Life of so much Consequence!
One Life of so much Consequence!
Yet I -- for it -- would pay --
My Soul's entire income --
In ceaseless -- salary --
One Pearl -- to me -- so signal --
That I would instant dive --
Although -- I knew -- to take it --
Would cost me -- just a life!
The Sea is full -- I know it!
That -- does not blur my Gem!
It burns -- distinct from all the row --
Intact -- in Diadem!
The life is thick -- I know it!
Yet -- not so dense a crowd --
But Monarchs -- are perceptible --
Far down the dustiest Road!
Friendships Mystery, To My Dearest Lucasia
Come, my Lucasia, since we see
That miracles Men's Faith do move,
By wonder and by prodigy
To the dull angry World let's prove
There's a Religion in our Love.
For Though we were design'd t'agree,
That Fate no liberty destroys,
But our Election is as free
As Angels, who with greedy choice
Are yet determin'd to their joys.
Our hearts are doubled by the loss,
Here Mixture is Addition grown;
We both diffuse, and both ingross:
And we whose minds are so much one,
Never, yet ever are alone.
We court our own Captivity
Sonnet 23 - Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine—
But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble ? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!
Sonnet 09 - Can it be right to give what I can give?
Can it be right to give what I can give?
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations? O my fears,
That this can scarce be right! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nor give thee any love—which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.
There Was a Time
THERE was a time when this poor frame was whole
And I had youth and never another care,
Or none that should have troubled a strong soul.
Yet, except sometimes in a frosty air
When my heels hammered out a melody
From pavements of a city left behind,
I never would acknowledge my own glee
Because it was less mighty than my mind
Had dreamed of. Since I could not boast of strength
Great as I wished, weakness was all my boast.
I sought yet hated pity till at length
I earned it. Oh, too heavy was the cost.
But now that there is something I could use
My youth and strength for, I deny the age,
The care and weakness that I know--refuse
To admit I am unworthy of the wage
Drag
a perfect god in high heels
slipping on the frosty street
our usual hands founder
lost at land
doubts made of jest
may be given over for a sacrifice
no surprise is new
on the tailor’s mother tongue
Sacrifice
I dine on love
like a well I bury
my teeth in.
Paladin
they were made to be heroes:
to fight with steel teeth and iron bones,
to sacrifice for the sake of others,
to love mankind as a whole.
they were made to be martyrs:
to dull over time the way old and worn things do,
to bend and warp from overuse,
to die in the name of fate.
and they will;
until there is nothing left, they will give everything.
Choose
They step aside letting me clean their graves
There is a pagoda in the garden where they wait talking as I mourn
I hear a voice granting me this
That I can give up my life for anyone I wish brought back to life
But only one
Father of sacrifice needs no help to draw my pity
That is piteous
Mother of passion reigned over me
I resent that
Brother of empire I would re-instate
But why
Sister of sullenness I feel for
And ignore
Lovers of the moment I cannot deny
But they did not wait for me
Children of untold stories make the most promises
Crowned
I WEAR a crown invisible and clear,
And go my lifted royal way apart
Since you have crowned me softly in your heart
With love that is half ardent, half austere;
And as a queen disguised might pass anear
The bitter crowd that barters in a mart,
Veiling her pride while tears of pity start,
I hide my glory thru a jealous fear.
My crown shall stay a sweet and secret thing
Kept pure with prayer at evensong and morn,
And when you come to take it from my head,
I shall not weep, nor will a word be said,
But I shall kneel before you, oh my king,
And bind my brow forever with a thorn.
The Fire
The old men of the world have made a fire
To warm their trembling hands.
They poke the young men in.
The young men burn like withes.
If one run a little way,
The old men are wrath.
They catch him and bind him and throw him again to the flames.
Green withes burn slow...
And the smoke of the young men's torment
Rises round and sheer as the trunk of a pillared oak,
And the darkness thereof spreads over the sky....
Green withes burn slow...
And the old men of the world sit round the fire
And rub their hands....
But the smoke of the young men's torment
Ascends up for ever and ever.