IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. COWLEY
Fain would my Muse the flowery treasures sing,
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
Where opening roses breathing sweets diffuse,
And soft carnations shower their balmy dews;
Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white,
The thin undress of superficial light,
And varied tulips show so dazzling gay,
Blushing in bright diversities of day.
Each painted floweret in the lake below
Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;
And pale Narcissus on the bank, in vain
Transformèd, gazes on himself again.
Here aged trees cathedral walks compose,
And mount the hill in venerable rows:
There the green infants in their beds are laid,
ISAACUS NEWTONUS:
QUEM IMMORTALEM
TESTANTUR TEMPUS, NATURA, COELUM:
MORTALEM
HOC MARMOR FATETUR.
Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night
God said, Let Newton be! and all was light.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are !
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the trav'ller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often thro' my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
from morning till night a din
to trouble but content me
strange how a new mouth
is just another wonder
Water over
the fields—a rank maze.
We found after great patience
in the water, a costly catch:
ling and wonder.
Lest the spirit of wonder be lost
Go to the beach and behold the infinity of the sands,
Go to the library and consult the card catalogue and
behold the magnificent variety of books and periodicals.
Go to the Botanical Gardens and stare at the palm
trees.
Go to the aquarium and see the fish.
Go to work and behold the infinite nature of your tra-
vail.
Go to a cemetery and behold old tombstones.
You can't fool me, you have never lost the spirit of
wonder though perhaps I had and have now regained it from
you.
I’ve tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I’ve tried it fine with little breadth of lustre,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first-water star almost as shining.
I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later,
I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.
the dream castle the exotic land
expand to ordinary space
as you walk into them
almost bored the magic gone with
presence like a lover, or
Spring taken for granted
these tulips open
only seen with stopping,
wondering abandoning
mind's webs
this chocolate gone
with two quick bites
yet we go on exclaiming
chasing
inventing diet versions
not noticing how good dry bread
At her western window, she's stitching.
The needle pricks her sometimes. She moves
Her hand aside to not bleed on silk.
Even as she works, her waxed thread in
Rows appearing like commas, she sees a
Western meadowlark pounce in tall grass
Ever growing, unmowed, outside. When
She stops, peering over thick lenses
To note the meadowlark has a grub, to her
Ears come, faintly, short songs of its mate.
Reaching for her scissors, she snips a tail,
Nudges it out of sight behind a stitch.
When this row is done, she'll ask her mate
If it will do. If not, she'll turn her mother's
Needle and pull thread, loop by loop
Down to the place her mind wandered.
If you haven't heard the robin's dawn song
You're a poorer man than you ought to be.
Up early once, by a small factory
Alongside which an elm tree was growing
Vibrantly in one of its early springs
With about two hundred heart-shaped leaves
Green as if it had just invented them;
I heard and saw a robin in the tree
Emit I'll swear in one protracted chord
With not a one I could label discord,
A note for every new leaf on that tree,
As if each leaf issued another leaf
Of spiritual stuff, metallic as well;
Brilliantly shone, etched with one perfect word.
After the songless rose of evening,
Night quiet, dark, still,
In nodding cavalcade advancing
Starred the deep hill:
You, in the valley standing,
In your quiet wonder took
All that glamour, peace, and mystery
In one grave look.
Beauty hid your naked body,
Time dreamed in your bright hair,
In your eyes the constellations
Burned far and fair.
Saw this day sweet flowers grow thick-
But not one like the child did pick.
I heard the packhounds in green park —
But no dog like the child heard bark.
I heard this day bird after bird —
But not one like the child has heard.
A hundred butterflies saw I —
But not one like the child saw fly.
I saw the horses roll in grass —
But no horse like the child saw pass.
My world this day has lovely been —
But not like what the child has seen.