A stolen moment with poetry

 

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

Under my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply,

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.

 

 

 

I, Being Born a Woman and Distressed

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

I, being born a woman and distressed

By all the needs and notions of my kind,

Am urged by your propinquity to find

Your person fair, and feel a certain zest

To bear your body’s weight upon my breast:

So subtly is the fume of life designed,

To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,

And leave me once again undone, possessed.

Think not for this, however, the poor treason

Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,

I shall remember you with love, or season

My scorn with pity, — let me make it plain:

I find this frenzy insufficient reason

For conversation when we meet again.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

 

 

TERMINUS

by: Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

Tis time to be old,

To take in sail:-

The gods of bounds,

Who sets to seas a shore,

Came to me in his fatal rounds,

And said: ”˜No more!

No farther shoot

Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root.

Fancy departs: no more invent;

Contract thy firmament

To compass of a tent.

There’s not enough for this and that,

Make thy option which of two;

Economize the failing river,

Not the less revere the Giver,

Leave the many and hold the few.

Timely wise accept the terms,

Soften the fall with wary foot;

A little while

Still plan and smile,

And, fault of novel germs,

Mature the unfallen fruit.

Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires,

Bad husbands of their fires,

Who, when they gave thee breath,

Failed to bequeath

The needful sinew stark as once,

The Baresark marrow to thy bones,

But left a legacy of ebbing veins,

Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,-

Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb,

Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.’

 

As the bird trims her to the gale,

I trim myself to the storm of time,

I man the rudder, reef the sail,

Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime:

”˜Lowly faithful, banish fear,

Right onward drive unharmed;

The port, well worth the cruise, is near,

And every wave is charmed.’

 

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ITHAKA

by Constantine Cavafey

When you set out for Ithaka, ask that your way be long full of instruction, full of adventure.

The Laistrogonians and the Cyclops,  angry Poseidon, You will not meet them as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare emotion touch your spirit and your thought.

The Laistrogonians and the Cyclops, angry Poseidon you will not meet them unless you carry them in your Soul, unless your Soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long, at many a summer’s dawn to enter, with what Gratitude ! what Joy!  Ports seen for the first time;

To visit the great Phoenician trading centers and to buy good merchandise, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony and sensuous perfumes of every kind, sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can.

Have Ithaka always in your mind but do not in the least hurry the journey.

Better that it last for years so that, when you reach the island,  you are old, rich with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.

Ithaka gave you the splendid journey. With out her you would not have set out.

She has nothing else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka has not deceived you .

So wise have you become, of such experience that already you will understand  what these Ithakas mean.

 

####   Now,  back to work!

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  What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII) by Edna St. Vincent Millay What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass…
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