#EnglishWriters
They leave their love-lorn haunts, Their sigh-warm floating Eden; And they are mute at once, Mortals by God unheeden, By their past kisses chidden.
I did not pluck at all, And I am sorry now: The garden is not barred But the boughs are heavy with snow… The flake-blossoms thickly fall
What if you shut your eyes and loo… Yea, look with all the spirit’s ey… While mystic unrevealed skies Unfold like pages of a book Wherein new scenes of wonder rare
I mingle with your bones: You steal in subtle noose This lighted dust .Jehovah loans And now I lose. What will the Lender say
I have lived in the underworld so… How can you, a creature of light, Without terror understand the song And unmoved hear what moves in nig… I am a spirit that yours has found…
As the pregnant womb of night Thrills with imprisoned light, Misty, nebulous-born, Growing deeper into her morn, So man, with no sudden stride,
What in our lives is burnt In the fire of this? The heart’s dear granary? The much we shall miss? Three lives hath one life '
My Maker shunneth me: Even as a wretch stricken with lep… So hold I pestilent supremacy. Yea! He Instil fled far as the ut… Beyond the unperturbed fastnesses…
And all her soft dark hair Breathed for him like a prayer, And her white lost face Was prisoned to sonie far place. Love was not denied–
Through these pale cold days What dark faces burn Out of three thousand years, And their wild eyes yearn, While underneath their brows
Space beats the ruddy freedom of t… Their naked dances with man’s spir… By the root side of the tree of li… (The under side of things And shut from earth’s profoundest…
Godhead’s lip hangs When our pulses have no golden tre… And his whips are flicked by mice And all star-amorous things. Drops, drops of shivering quiet
Lamp-lit faces, to you What is your starry dew? Gold flowers of the night blue! Deep in wet pavement’s slime Mud-rooted is your fierce prime,
The moon is in an ecstasy, It wanes not nor can grow ; The heavens are in a mist of love, And deepest knowledge know: What things in nature seem to move
Caught still as Absalom, Surely the air hangs From the swayless cloud-boughs Like hair of Absalom Caught and hanging still.