The way Hope builds his House
The way Hope builds his House
It is not with a sill --
Nor Rafter -- has that Edifice
But only Pinnacle --
Abode in as supreme
This superficies
As if it were of Ledges smit
Or mortised with the Laws --
Poems on the topic: soul
Poems on the topic “soul” on Poets.by.
I felt my life with both my hands
I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there --
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler --
I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner's name --
For doubt, that I should know the Sound --
I judged my features -- jarred my hair --
I pushed my dimples by, and waited --
If they -- twinkled back --
Conviction might, of me --
I told myself, "Take Courage, Friend --
That -- was a former time --
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!"
Why -- do they shut Me out of Heaven?
Why -- do they shut Me out of Heaven?
Did I sing -- too loud?
But -- I can say a little "Minor"
Timid as a Bird!
Wouldn't the Angels try me --
Just -- once -- more --
Just -- see -- if I troubled them --
But don't -- shut the door!
Oh, if I -- were the Gentleman
In the "White Robe" --
And they -- were the little Hand -- that knocked --
Could -- I -- forbid?
Lest this be Heaven indeed
Lest this be Heaven indeed
An Obstacle is given
That always gauges a Degree
Between Ourself and Heaven.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
"Hope" is the thing with feathers --
That perches in the soul --
And sings the tune without the words --
And never stops -- at all --
And sweetest -- in the Gale -- is heard --
And sore must be the storm --
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm --
I've heard it in the chillest land --
And on the strangest Sea --
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb -- of Me.
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!
Spirits Of The Dead
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness--for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee--and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
The night--tho' clear--shall frown--
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given--
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
Through a Glass Darkly
What we, when face to face we see
The Father of our souls, shall be,
John tells us, doth not yet appear;
Ah! did he tell what we are here!
A mind for thoughts to pass into,
A heart for loves to travel through,
Five senses to detect things near,
Is this the whole that we are here?
Rules baffle instincts--instinct rules,
Wise men are bad--and good are fools,
Facts evil--wishes vain appear,
We cannot go, why are we here?
O may we for assurance's sake,
Some arbitrary judgement take,
And wilfully pronounce it clear,
For this or that 'tis we are here?
The death of winter
On a warm day,
a patch of ice dulls over
like a dead eye,
except that something moves
under and through it,
like the soul—
that bubble of breath—
surrounded by meltwater
and the bluebird’s song.
* * *
Morning to evening; half a day lost,
staring out the window apone a green meadow.
I wanted to know just one true thing
about my very own soul,
but left in thought and now -
2-inchs of snow lay
on that once green meadow.
Where did I go? How long did I
seek out for you?, who would never leave me,
my very own witness, my here.
Comfortably Numb
after years
and years
and
years
of feeling,
one day it's like my brain was done
like a switch was flipped inside my soul
like all my feelings had been felt, poured out 'til not a drop was left
like my heart was placed in a coma, beating not living
but i don't think it'll wake up
because i'm not so sure there's anything left
to pull it back to
life
Cannot Delete: Access Denied
Once in a while you have to clean your system.
Empty the Recycle Bin,
Clean up and defrag the disks.
Files accumulated over the past
Move crumpled into the bin
And then to oblivion.
It would be nice
To have a hard disk instead of a brain
Where fungus-ridden memories grow maggots
Eating into my soul.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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