When I was so much younger than today-- A poet sans a muse to praise in rhyme, A mother bare a babe to shield from fray, A lover out a love to outlast time-- There came a one beyond what I could pray, In form and feature, blessed above the rest-- Who made this world a welcome place to stay, And kept, as his, the secrets of my breast. Now have I lost my Will, the world her sway: Dawn’s dewy rose, of perfume, wakes bereft; Yon drooping sun dips down midst streaks of gray-- O Nature, thou art from thy sweetness cleft! ’Tis comfort cold, the roving bard to say: “All things must pass; all things must pass away.”
Posted April 23, 2024
There is a tender lamb commands my heart, The near reflection of his father’s glass; A mere distinction stands ’em hands apart, Tho one grows faster than the summer grass. To signify, within mine eye, his rank: About the tufted temples, I entwine A crown of daisies, buds that pink the bank, Sweet musk-rose, ’suckle, blushing eglantine. I lead him, as he leaps——my fleecy lamblet—— To pastures lush and green on which to feed; We wander happily abroad the hamlet: Past church and market, back to sunny mead. I laud the Lord that I his shepherd be, And then we lie, beneath a shady tree.
Posted April 23, 2024
The shepherd seeks the sheep, it hath been said, And neath my dreaming lids, he doth yet bound; But watchful eyes betray soul’s deepest dread: The ravening wolf hath chased my lamb to ground. God’s privilege revoked, to keep him more, I sought a token to invoke him one day: Those chalky locks I reaped——a cutting chore—— And combed ’em as I would ha’ done o’ Sunday. Whilst strands I spun, woe’s labor’s weeping dyed ’Em fast the mourning tinct of ebony; So, stands it that——in Sheep Street, market-hied; ’Long Clopton Bridge——report they after me: “As if her heart might crack, she cries, ‘Alack!’ And though he’ll ne’er come back, she’s dressed in black.”
Posted June 17, 2023
I was not made to roam except in thought;
’Twould serve me not to foot it high and low,
When any mound might ground the general plot:
That people are the same where’er ye go.
With fair Verona, if I seem acquainted,
Or Alexandria, ’tis but an act;
Of merry Windsor is my scene a-painted,
While I from home scarce ride a mile, in fact.
So, needs thou be mine ears and eyes, my heart;
Laugh they at Falstaff? Cry when lovers die?
With apt emotion plays each man his part?
O, I could drown the stage with our goodbye.
Toward London Town gallops the script I writ;
Beneath the blue suburban skies, I sit.
Posted May 1, 2023
One, two, three, four! came raps upon my door; A lady decked in satin and brocade, In loveliness arrayed from head to floor, I opened for and evermore obeyed. She said she would applaud the lauded playwright; “’Tis I you seek!” I careless made to speak But then recalled me: “Have you got the day right?—— The master shan’t be back for many a week.” She gazed upon the mistress o’ the place, And in that look, a book of love was told; Our history I read upon her face, From first sweet kiss to bliss that would unfold. Mine eyes pored o’er a new imprint of fair, O yea! O, when I saw her standing there.
Posted April 17, 2023
My mistress’ eyes are brighter than the sun;
Her lips ripe cherries envy for their red;
A breast so milky, by it snow be dun,
Catches the silken tumble from her head.
If artist’s skillful hand blent rouge and white,
’Twould counterfeit the painting in her cheeks;
Her murmurs fill a chamber with delight
And breath as sweet as ’twere the violet reeks.
Her speech is all the melody I know;
My muse, my music, learns the spheres to sound;
I moan the hour I let my goddess go,
To sail aloft while I watch, on the ground.
Who can apprize a masterpiece so rare?
The way she looks is way beyond compare.
Novel-Gazing 