| NOSTALGIA That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain. The happy roads where I went, And cannot come again. ------------------- Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair, Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of days that are no more. ------------------- But moments are like poppies spread: You seize the flower, it�s bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white - then melts for ever. ------------------- SWIMMING ALONE They warn you not to, Dangerous they say, What if you get in trouble, What if, In the early morning when pellets of rain Rip the mist like whispering rumor, loud In the dark fir, circling. What if, The majesty of one, Deliberately fracturing glass, Moving down through pools to make, A footprint on mud that�s swallowed whole, Slipping behind the raft and out of sight, Breathing under the whirled pearl smoke, Brooding and dreaming, what if, One becomes enough, Or meets another single creature, Plowing through this lake, Also swimming alone, For the first time since childhood, In cunning furtive spasms, Until the strokes are long and steady. What if, we two angry, isolated, Touching souls together, Ignoring all the prohibitions, expectations, Swimming, especially in lightning. White nudes between each sizzling shaft, And always at night, when the sky falls down, And we push through fuming stars, Barely missing the moon�s pale hiss. What if we two, wrinkled and cold and buoyant, Never come out of the lake. Swimming alone is for the brave and desperate. ---------------------- CHILDHOOD GARDEN I went to the Gate of Love, And saw what I had never seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And �Thou shalt not� writ over the door. And Priests in black gowns, Were walking their rounds, And hiding with briars, My joys and desires. --------------- ODE TO AUTUMN I saw old Autumn in the misty morn. Standing shadowless like Silence, listening To silence. ------------------- PARTING And if you ask how I regret the parting, It is like the flowers falling at Spring�s end, Confused, whirled in a tangle. What is the use of talking, And there is no end of talking. There is no end of things in the heart. |
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