The Poetic Year for 1916: A Critical Anthology

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Small, Maynard, 1917 - 403 psl.

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18 psl. - said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller's head: And he smote upon the door again a second time ;
18 psl. - Is there anybody there?" he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call.
108 psl. - Where was he going, this man against the sky? You know not, nor do I. But this we know, if we know anything: That we may laugh and fight and sing And of our transcience here make offering To an orient Word that will not be erased, Or, save in incommunicable gleams Too permanent for dreams, Be found or known.
102 psl. - THE man Flammonde, from God knows where, With firm address and foreign air, With news of nations in his talk And something royal in his walk, With glint of iron in his eyes, But never doubt, nor yet surprise, Appeared, and stayed, and held his head As one by kings accredited.
340 psl. - I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple blossoms fill the air. I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
341 psl. - And apple-blossoms fill the air— I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath— It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.
93 psl. - The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down. The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet. And left to Heaven the rest.
301 psl. - AN AQUARIUM STREAKS of green and yellow iridescence, Silver shiftings, Rings veering out of rings, Silver — gold — Grey-green opaqueness sliding down, With sharp white bubbles Shooting and dancing, Flinging quickly outward.
79 psl. - THE SCHOLARS BALD heads forgetful of their sins, Old, learned, respectable bald heads Edit and annotate the lines That young men, tossing on their beds, Rhymed out in love's despair To flatter beauty's ignorant ear. All shuffle there; all cough in ink; All wear the carpet with their shoes; All think what other people think; All know the man their neighbour knows. Lord, what would they say Did their Catullus walk that way?
95 psl. - I am aware, As I sit quietly here in my chair, Sewing or reading or braiding my hair — Human and simple my lot and my share — I am aware of the systems that swing Through the aisles of creation on heavenly wing, I am aware of a marvelous thing.

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