I came across an interesting poet, again - though at times it seems that I subsonsciously gravitate towards the Victorians...
I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
This is quite a poem. Got to give it to the horny Jesuit, he knew his stancae. I think I will start carrying my poetry notebook around with me again... Empty as it may be... hitherto.
Here's another one: (I love the hard T at the end of the name Margaret. It's not Margareth or Margarette... Mar-gar-e-T.
I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
This is quite a poem. Got to give it to the horny Jesuit, he knew his stancae. I think I will start carrying my poetry notebook around with me again... Empty as it may be... hitherto.
Here's another one: (I love the hard T at the end of the name Margaret. It's not Margareth or Margarette... Mar-gar-e-T.
| MÁRGARÉT, áre you gríeving | |
| Over Goldengrove unleaving? | |
| Leáves, líke the things of man, you | |
| With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? | |
| Áh! ás the heart grows older | 5 |
| It will come to such sights colder | |
| By and by, nor spare a sigh | |
| Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; | |
| And yet you wíll weep and know why. | |
| Now no matter, child, the name: | 10 |
| Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same. | |
| Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed | |
| What heart heard of, ghost guessed: | |
| It ís the blight man was born for, | |
| It is Margaret you mourn for. |
