Poems Rethabile Likes

Journey by Leopoldo Lugones | Poems Rethabile Likes Journey by Leopoldo Lugones Translated from the Spanish by Muna Lee I met upon the road A woman and a man, And a tree that genuflected Before the wind; Farther on, a browsing burro; And farther still, a heap of stone. And in three thousand leagues of my spirit There was no more than these: A tree, a stone, a burro, A woman, and a man. Poet: @LeopoldoLugones Online: @PoetsDotOrg Book(s): @WikimediaCommons ...

Hibernal by Babette Deutsch | Poems Rethabile Likes Hibernal by Babette Deutsch The park is winter-plucked. The sky and the grey pavement show a sheeted face: the covered stare of one who had to die. Now, when men sweat, shoveling muddy snow or heaving ice, they know the helpless sweat that will not wet them twice, they know the staggering heart, the smothered breath that stand between this knowing and the end. Though they must drag a net of heavy hours about their straining limbs, though they behold love like a pillar of cloud, a pillar of fire— this net will break before they tire, this cloud, this ...

A Virginal by Ezra Pound | Poems Rethabile Likes A Virginal by Ezra Pound No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately. I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness, For my surrounding air hath a new lightness; Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether; As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness. Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her. No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour, Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers. Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches, As winter...

Preludes by T.S. Eliot | Poems Rethabile Likes Preludes by T.S. Eliot I The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps. II The morning comes to consciousness Of faint stale smells of beer From the sawdust-trampled street With all its muddy feet that press To early coffee-stands. With the other masquerades That time resumes, One thinks of all the hands That are raising dingy sh...

The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats | Poems Rethabile Likes The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the d...