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NOVEMBER NIGHT Listen... With faint dry sound Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d,break from the trees And fall. SONG I make my shroud but no one knows, So shimmering fine it is and fair, With stitches set in even rows. I make my shroud but no one knows. In door-way where the lilac blows, Humming a little wandering air, I make my shroud and no one knows, So shimmering fine it is and fair. THE WITCH When I was a girl by Nilus stream I watched the desert stars arise; My lover, he who dreamed the Sphinx, Learned all his dreaming from my eyes. I bore in Greece a burning name, And I have been in Italy Madonna to a painter-lad, And mistress to a Medici. And have you heard (and I have heard) Of puzzled men with decorous mien, Who judged--The wench knows far too much-- And hanged her on the Salem green? ANGELIQUE Have you seen Angelique, What way she went? A white robe she wore, A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find, The grave-cloth on her face To make her blind? Have you seen Angelique.... At night I hear her moan, And I shiver in my bed; She wanders all alone, She cannot find the dead. THE CRUCIFIXION Not long ago but everywhere I go There is a hill and a black windy sky. Portent of hill, sky, day’s eclipse I know: Hill, sky, the shuddering darkness, these am I. The dying at His right hand, at His left I am--the thief redeemed and the lost thief; I am the careless folk; I those bereft, The Well-Belov’d, the women bowed in grief. The gathering Presence that in terror cried, In earth’s shock, in the Temple’s veil rent through, I: and a watcher, ignorant, curious-eyed, I the centurion who heard and knew. |
"The Crucifixion" is pretty damn good, and new
to me; thanks for posting it. As for the rest, I don't know. Yvor Winters was always high on her, especially the cinquains, but I could never see why. Well, as Borges liked to say of poets he didn't dig, I am not worthy of her. |
I like her, too, Gray, though I grew tired of the cinquains in pretty short order. Here's one I've always admired for its lovely simplicity and for what I see as a seamless fit to the form:
Niagara Adelaide Crapsey Seen on a Night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumnal, evanescent, wan, The moon. |
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