He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
An evergreen and a red, red rose:
One slowly, but dully, ever grows;
One springs to life only for a short time.
Lifespan pine and beauty rose, apposed?
And risk vice versa? One never knows!
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dew drops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
Wild nights -- Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile -- the winds --
To a Heart in port --
Done with the Compass --
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden --
Ah -- the Sea!
Might I but moor - tonight -
In thee!
One bitter winter afternoon --
Locked under skies so low and gray --
The city slowed in cold cocoon
As what verve remained slid away.
And then the clouds, they broke apart,
And frozen souls began to thaw.
But some needed not the sun's kickstart
To free themselves of winter's maw.
What was their secret? I wish I knew.
To be happy sans the skies of blue.
Here comes some sing-song psychopomp,
Shepherding all those stone-cold souls.
He sings stirring songs all day long,
Dragging the Dead over dark shoals.
There once was a popular actress
Who most found cruel, catty, and tactless,
But the very worst part
Was the state of her art,
She only played herself in a different dress.
Thou wast that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine --
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.
Ah, dream to bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from the Future cries,
"On! on!" -- but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!
For, alas! alas! with me
The light of Life is o'er!
No more -- no more -- no more --
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!
And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams --
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.
My soul runs cold, and I
Fear it might be dying.
It rises into the sky --
Horrifyingly flying.
How'd it achieve liftoff,
And race to such a pace?
It started to just drift off...
Now: the cold vacuum of space.
Dare I hope for a snap back
When it reaches tether-end?
Or intergalactic bushwhack,
Stumbling lost with no descent.
Maybe, it'll sprawl on forever
To the universe's edge.
I might not be so clever,
But I'll be a universe full-fledged.
There once was an artist, Bohemian,
Who thought himself quite the comedian.
Peers thought he lacked heart,
& didn't suffer for his art,
But they suffered the farts of that Bohemian comedian.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 